


There Will Be Bells

by Entropyrose



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: A/B/O, Adult Breastfeeding, Age Difference, Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Breastfeeding, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Forced Marriage, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Male Lactation, Medical Kink, Misogyny, Mpreg, Omega Will Graham, Omegaverse, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Semi-Public Sex, Wife Will Graham, husband and wife
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:35:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22700326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entropyrose/pseuds/Entropyrose
Summary: In Georgian England, male omegas are very rare diamonds. Baron and Baroness Graham have a plan to build their wealth and social status by offering their son Will's hand in marriage to a mysterious older Duke, an Alpha named Lord Hannibal Lecter. Will's personal feelings need not apply.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Original Character(s)
Comments: 79
Kudos: 674





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started as an idea for a PWP and I plan to update consistently until the story is finished. The first chapter is all set up, so please don't be disappointed. Plenty of smut is on the way!
> 
> (Also: The term Wife, as It pertains to this universe, is a common name for any married omega regardless of gender. Will Graham is a cis male)

The strange man has silver eyes that pierce right through Will. He stirs uncomfortably in his seat, suddenly painfully aware of his own movement. Will's wearing his finest clothes---a blue brocade jacket with matching trousers, and beneath that a crisp cotton shirt with the top two buttons undone. Around his neck, a kerchief made from the finest silk, imported of course. No expense was spared, no detail overlooked in this presentation. 

The stranger, whom Will has never met before, is a Duke. And this is his home. If the limited amount of lit rooms is any indicator, he lives here alone, save for a few servants. Or perhaps it is a respite. The Duke calls it the Cottage---in truth, its an architectural behemoth, its size curbed only by thicket of oak trees that have been allowed to inundate its space. Will recalls thinking to himself, upon his arrival, that it looks as if the forest is methodically and deliberately swallowing the Abbey whole. 

Lord and Lady Graham are seated opposite their son, complimenting the Duke on everything from h’orderves to the crystal to the ancient stained glass adorning the tall windows. Will imagines that any one of these pieces of crystal could pay for his parents’ entire estate. The grin on his father is unsettling--he has struck gold. 

And in just the nick of time, too. After all, the purpose for their visit is perfectly clear to all involved. A giant elephant could be painted pink and sat in the direct center of the table and it would not be more obvious. 

Will is to be sold. 

“Will, my Son?” his father’s voice breaks through the buzzing of his mind, a palm landing on his pale fingers, gently shaking him. “Won’t you answer the question?” 

Will’s attention flutters between his father’s and the Duke. “I’m sorry. I didn’t….” he licks his lips dryly, taking a sip of the blood red wine before him, “....would you repeat the question?” 

The dry scoff, buried beneath his father’s graying beard is quickly silenced by a simple rising of the Duke’s wrist. “Your education,” the Duke replies matter-of-factly. “Your father says you attended University.” 

“Y-yes,” Will murmurs, trying his best to peel himself from his thoughts. “For three semesters. I majored in philosophy and english literature.” 

The Duke’s smile returns and he nods approvingly. “Quite the accomplishment given your age. Among other things.” 

Ah yes, Will’s age. It’s been a bone of contention between himself and his parents for the past few years. It’s not right for an Omega to go without a match for as long as he has, they say. Will has just turned eighteen and is nearing his expiration date as his father sees it. Will has no doubt of the “other things” the Duke is referring to. The “other things” are exactly the reasoning behind him even being here in the first place, trussed up in fine velvet and presented like a prize pig. Will had even said as much to his mother, adding he was surprised his Father didn’t commission a platter, emblazoned with the family crest, to offer Will upon and put an apple in his mouth while he was at it. 

He’d been slapped for his insolence. The sting of his mother’s hand still rings across his cheek and lips, like a red mark that only Will can see.

A sharp kick under the table reminds him of his duties. Will sits upright, clearing his throat. “A-and, you my Lord? Where did you aah… study?” 

The man at the head of the table takes a long, lingering drink from his glass, his mercurial eyes boring holes into Will’s brain. When it is drained, he holds it up and addresses Will’s half-hearted question as a servant fills the vessel. “I’m afraid that going into detail on this matter would only sound like bragging. Besides, dear Will, we will have plenty of time to discuss my background later.” 

That last word punches straight through him. 

Will has a suit in mind. He knows his parents would never approve. That hasn’t stopped Will from sneaking around to the stables to steal a kiss from the Driver. Clarence is nearly his age, a bit taller and broader-shouldered, as non-Omegas are. HIs best friend since his earliest days, he’s always felt the safest when with him. Clarence vowed to save up money. Will insisted upon running away together instead. Of course, as they both have discovered things are always easier said than done. Will’s father had offered Clarence a substantial increase in his pay in exchange for never seeing Will alone again. And if Clarence refused, Will’s father would see to it that there was a price on Clarence’s head so high, he’d never be safe in any town. They’d almost certainly be found out and Clarence would be dragged back, dead (or if alive, not for long) and Will’s usefulness would be ruined forever. 

Omega boys are very rare. Even rarer still to be born from two betas. When Will’s fever came and the doctor’s confirmed his worst fears, his parents were overjoyed. They immediately set about ensuring Will as a perfect candidate for marriage---setting aside a sizable dowry, lavishing him with the finest education and grooming his mannerisms to be more attuned to his ‘biological nature’, as they say. “Meekness is not weakness” his mother loves to remind him. Will’s nose crinkles instinctively as the words ring in his ears. 

“Now, to the matter of the Dowry,” Baron Graham begins. 

“No,” The Duke interjects. “Please. I never discuss business over dinner. And besides, I would care to be considerate of your son’s...delicate nature.”

“O-of course, my Lord. Might I say, is refreshing and reassuring that a man of your stature would be so intuitive. I’m sure you will find that Will is a very respectable boy. I’d even go so far as to say he is one of the finest examples of his sex…” 

The inference makes Will want to hurl. He remains perfectly still, hands folded lightly in front of him. A plate is presented, the meat red and rare and swimming in something darker than its own blood. A single sprig of lavender is placed atop the portion, a bone with its white eye stares at him from the center. Plump sections of beets and carrots dance around it. 

“Lovely!” HIs mother exclaims. “Why, it looks like a painting!” 

Will hesitantly glances up from the food, unsurprised but equally unsettled to see the Duke still staring back. “Indeed…” he hears him murmur. “...a work of art.” 

Will turns away. Silver scrapes against porcelain as everybody partakes. It takes every ounce of strength for Will to bring a single bite up to his mouth. Even the vegetables are saturated with the smell of red flesh. He swallows it down hard. 

“Chew it, son,” his father chastises. 

“My dear Will.” The Duke says in a sickeningly familiar tone, “Do you not like it?” 

“I’m certain he loves it,” Baron Graham intervenes, his eyes shooting daggers at his son. “He is a timid thing, something I’m told is quite a favorable trait in terms of Omegas.” 

“Indeed,” The Duke says, half-humming. “Still, I would hope in time he might mention some of his favorite dishes. I would love to have prepared a meal that pleases my bride-to-be.” 

Will’s chest tightens, the blood freezing in his veins. So that’s it then. This dinner is not an interview or a courtship---it’s the summation of a business deal that’s already closed. Will wonders how long his parents have been setting this up---weeks, perhaps months? Or maybe a year or more? The rest of his short life flashes across his eyes in that moment, and he shoots up from his seat. HIs mother stares upwards at him, her eyes as big as clams. With shaking breath, he steadies himself against the table, levelling his eyes at the pool of blood swimming around the plate. “May...may I be excused…?” 

The Duke is silent for what seems like an eternity. If Will’s father wants to yell or chastise his son, he is waiting on the word of the Master, his breath as baited as Will’s. 

At last, the Duke gently folds his napkin, placing it beside his plate. “Of course.” 

Will runs as fast as his legs will carry him, shoving his whole body against the enormous wooden door until it opens as stunned servants look on. 

*************

He cuts through the winding corridors, back the way they came. He’s not exactly sure where he’s going or how far he will get. But right now, the destination doesn't matter. His father may control every single aspect of his life, but Will’s legs are his and his alone, and with them he can practically fly. 

But for how long? 

He gallups to a stop when he reaches the foyer, a ballroom-sized hall with twin winding staircases and marble angel statues perched on either side. His pulse is thrumming in his ears, heart trying to tear itself out of his chest and Will thinks he might just let it. There is the carriage, still parked in the cobblestone courtyard, lit by wildly flickering lights. The wind has picked up and it’s as cold as steel against his exposed arms. He hugs himself as he makes his way down the steps, catching himself on the gate at the bottom and holding on for dear life. Another carriage, identical, has driven up behind the first. A figure is unloading train-case. Emblazoned on the side, in ornate gold lettering, is Will’s name. 

“Hey those are---!” He rounds the carriage to come face-to-face with Clarence. “.....mine.” 

When his eyes lay onto the cool blue of his friend’s, his heart soars, a ridiculously wide smile playing across Will’s face as he swings his arms around his neck and plants a firm kiss on his lips. “You came?”, he cries. Yes, this is what he was running to. Clarence had come for him. Clarence had gathered all of his and Will’s belongings and had showed up to sweep him away so that they could start anew. Right now, Will doesn’t care about the danger. If Clarence wants to run away, then the answer is yes, yes, a thousand times yes. Will’s mind is immediately racing, considering the best possible route for their escape. It would be too dangerous to leave through the middle of town, but Will recalls the old cabbage farm on the outskirts of the woods and the craggy little road that leads to the next village over. Yes, they could sneak away quietly, take the ancient road, through the thicket, then….

The taller young man pulls away to hold him at arm's length, his tear-streaked eyes pleading silently with Will’s, conveying emotions he dares not speak. 

“....what is it?” Will’s breath hitches. He hadn’t been thinking straight. He saw Clairence and the carriage and his own belongings and reached a conclusion without using the most obvious common denominator; Clarence was removing the luggage. He swallows sharply, forcing himself to glance down at the trunks. Gathered neatly by his feet, his entire life laid before him. It’s then he knows the most inescapable truth. 

He’s not going anywhere. 

Clarence is suddenly pushing him away, wrenching his arms and forcing Will back onto the walkway. The approaching footsteps sink into Will’s consciousness. He turns slowly, in a haze, to see his parents and the stranger approach.

“Apologies, My Lords,” Clarence says, wiping away tears with his sleeve. But he’s not talking to Will. “We were just saying our goodbyes.” 

Baron Graham nods in acceptance, not erasing the deep lines of displeasure etched on his brow. 

The Duke steps closer to Will. Will hadn’t noticed, until this moment, that his head barely reaches the Duke’s shoulders. “I understand. Such changes are difficult, especially when they are so...sudden.” 

Will gasps when a hand reaches for the sleeve of his jacket. He moves away, trying as hard as he can to make it look like he’s simply turning towards him. He throws a dangerous glare upwards at the man, and for the first time, the Duke is not staring back. Instead, he is offering his condolences to the boy in the servant’s suit who has gone back to stacking Will’s belongings on the ground. 

Will turns on his heel, walking slowly back inside, letting the mansion swallow him in with every step. 

“We will see you at the wedding!” HIs mother calls after him. 

Will wants to vomit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I apologize for my brashness," the Alpha says. He produces a white kerchief from his pocket, and proceeds in wiping the blood from his hands. "After the initial pain subsides, there should be minimal discomfort.”

The room is covered in centuries old tapestries and drenched in red, from the ceiling to the floor. The bed is spacious and plush, all twisted hardwood with a heavy canopy draped across the top. 

"Do you like it?"

"Yes," Will lies. 

"Then it is yours, for as long as you have need of it." The tall Alpha crosses the distance between them, a light touch on Will's elbow sending a shock down his spine. He tolerates it this time, fearing that pulling away from him might anger him. And who knows what the Duke might do then. 

When his words register, however, they don't immediately make sense. Will goes over them once more in his mind, glancing up through his cinnamon-colored curls. He blinks slowly. "Th-then….you don't expect us to share a…?"

The Alpha chuckles softly, for the very first time bringing a wide, elegant hand to Will's cheek. It's surprisingly soft. "Of course not. Propriety aside, you have just been torn from your mother and father, and the only home you've ever known in your short life."   
.  
Wills eyes flash incredulously. 

"Of course I know." The Duke answers, as if he's read his thoughts without Will having asked them. "I was hoping for a traditional courtship for you--a period of adjusting to the idea--and I suggested as much to your Father. He insisted that despite initial appearance, the transition would go much more smoothly if done quickly. That prolonging the inevitable would cause you undue stress."

"My father doesn't know me," Will snaps, jerking away. "And neither do you." He hides his face from the lanky Alpha as hot tears stain his vision. He would gladly die before allowing the man to see him cry. 

"Perhaps not," The man continues. He makes his way across the room, to the stack of wooden cases. He runs a calculating finger around the capital "W" painted there. "But I have no doubt that this will change in time, perhaps more quickly than you or I anticipate. In the meantime, I am nothing if not a patient man. Now, dear, if you please. Open the armoire." 

Will follows the alpha's case across the room. He crosses in a few uncertain strides,hesitantly touching the handle. "I don't want your help," he insists coolly. "I'm more than capable of putting my own things away." 

The Duke watches him with a secretive smile. He nods slightly towards him, a signal for Will to continue. 

He gives the door a tug, and a mountain of clothes spill forth. Hung on intricate silver hangers are brocade vests and velvet tunics and suits of every type and color. So full is the armoire that the fabrics simply cannot be contained. At the bottom, in deep drawers, are row upon row of decorative shoes. Curiously, they are all Will's size. As are the clothes. His mouth hangs open. He knows he should at least feign gratitude--thank the stranger for his seeming thoughtfulness, but all he feels is the constant burn of rage welling deep within him. 

"You should be in no hurry to unpack your belongings," the Duke explains. (The familiar lilt in his voice tells Will just how proud of himself he is.) "I have provided you everything you should need. I consulted your tailor to ensure proper measurements. I...hope you don't mind."

Will clutches the armoire door, holding himself up by it. Through clenched teeth he says "Thank you very much", deliberately exaggerating every syllable. 

"You're most welcome." After an uncomfortable silence passes between them, the Duke adds "But there is something else."

Will simply couldn't have prepared himself for what comes next. The Alpha strikes like a cobra, quick and clean, faster than any animal Will has ever encountered. A flash of silver streaks through his vision, hands going around Will's throat and sealing any space between them. Two cold spikes enter, spattering red across the rug. Cold steel coils around him, freezing him instantly in place. A lock closes with a sharp "snick". 

Will is left panting in place, a hand to his throat. A few more blood drops fall to the ground. 

"I apologize for my brashness," the Alpha says. He produces a white kerchief from his pocket, and proceeds in wiping the blood from his hands. "After the initial pain subsides, there should be minimal discomfort.”

Will stumbles backwards, catching himself on the rail of the bed as he stares, wide-eyed, at his assailant. “Wh-what did y-you?” 

“It’s called a Submission Collar, my dearest Will.” The Duke explains. “A rather crude but wholly accurate name for such a device. The silver prongs deliver subcutaneous pressure points to the sternocleidomastoid lymph node, also known to the layman as the “mating gland”.” 

“What does that….what will it do to me?!” 

“You need to calm yourself, Will. Your blood pressure levels rise as the amount of stress you put yourself through increases, thus making your blood pump faster.” The Duke approaches and Will clammors back, scraping for purchase on the satin sheets as he tries to run in reverse. The Duke chuckles softly, swiping away fresh blood from beneath the device. He holds the soaked fabric in front of Will. “You see?” 

He joins Will on the overstuffed bed, drawing the shaking Omega into his lap and stroking his hair back in a soothing gesture. His scent is clean and inviting, like freshly turned soil after the rain. “Shhhh,” he purrs, “Hush now darling. Soon enough you will feel it going to work.” 

“I don’t understand,” Will whimpers. His legs are slowly turning to jelly, and he finds himself unable to fight back. “What is it supposed to….” 

“It’s a suppressive soothing apparatus. It triggers the serotonin receptors in the brain, much in the same way a mother cat does with her young, thus making you more pliant. In Omegas, the effect is produced whenever their Alpha bites or otherwise applies pressure to the mating gland.” 

“I’m….I’m not your Omega,” Will hisses, stubbornly brushing away the Duke’s tender touches.

“Not yet,” comes the gentle reply. “Which is why, as for now, the collar is necessary. It will encourage your compliance while simultaneously alleviating your stress.” 

“If you truly wanted to alleviate my stress,” the Omega balks, “You’d leave me alone.” 

“An Alpha is biologically well-suited to most challenges, little Will.” The Duke’s soft pets turn into firm tugs as he winds his long, elegant fingers deep into Will’s curl’s. “But leaving his Omega’s side goes against his very nature and purpose.” 

“Then why don’t you just take me already?,” Will chokes out, the all-encompassing feeling of despair creeping its way into his very marrow. 

“Oh I shall, my love,” comes the sickening promise. “And when I do, you will be begging for it in earnest.” 

******

His new home (if he must call it that) is simultaneously cold and suffocating. The garden is ill and overgrown, as if it has not been tended to in centuries, save for a small patch of black soil with no signs of life whatever. It lies beneath one of the tallest trees on the land, hidden under the cool shade. Leaves dance like floundering fish, catching every ray of sunlight and throwing it back to the sky. It doesn’t take Will long to notice that light does not land here. 

There is a skeleton staff in the Duke’s employ. A gardener, a cook, and two servants. Will smiles and attempts to start small, meaningless conversation. It always results in them excusing themselves with a quick bow. Will supposes the Duke has ordered them not to speak to him. 

He refuses to touch the clothes in the Armoire. They are not his, nor does he want them. Despite the Duke’s insistence that a servant should help him, Will unpacks his own garments and folds them neatly in the corner. They smell like home. The collar is uncomfortable and itchy, the two prongs constantly digging into his skin and forcing that sleepy, sedated feeling on him. He is careful not to unpack too many things. No matter what the Duke thinks, Will won’t be staying long. 

He eats his meals on the other end of the banqueting table, a ridiculously long way away from the Duke, who insists upon eating together. The Duke watches him constantly, barely touching his own food. There have been no more bloody dishes---just simple proteins like chicken and fish. And as much as Will damns the Duke for it, every dish tastes like a dance. Every now and again, Will smells him in the air. Even when he is walking alone down a long corridor. And those silver eyes...the feeling of his gaze ghosts across his neck like an icy wind. 

Will bathes in a pool of chiseled marble. He feels a bit guilty, making the maids carry that much water to and fro but the bath is one of the only things that brings him comfort. He and Clarence used to bathe in the shallows of the river, laughing and splashing each other, seeing who could make it to the big rock the fastest. When he gets out, itching at that damned collar, he throws a linen cloth around his shoulders and scrubs his hair dry. It’s getting longer, the curls hanging in ringlets nearly reaching his shoulders. He will need to cut it somehow. 

He steps into the red room to find his clothes gone, and the train cases with them. He swallows hard, heart pounding faster than the collar can steady it, and quickly throws open the armoire. The new, freshly tailored garments spill out. 

He grabs for something and throws it on before trotting off down the hallway.

The Duke is almost always in his Study. Today is no exception. Will barges in, not caring what kind of a mood “his Lordship” is in or whether or not he has business. Marching up to the desk, he demands,“Where are my clothes?!” 

A bemused man stares back. The Duke’s workbook is closed, his writing utensils stored carefully away in their respective jars. He folds his hands in front of him, raising one eyebrow at the upstart. “I don’t know.” 

Will explodes. “You lie!” 

“I am telling you the truth, my love, I don’t know where they have been placed nor what the servants have done with them.” 

“But you ordered them to be removed?!” 

The Duke nods. “Of course I did. Your parents meant well by sending them for you, but they are unbecoming of the wife of a Lord of Lecter.” 

“I’m not your wife!” 

“Not yet. But it would be beneficial for you to utilize them now. They will aide in you getting accustomed to your place.” 

“MY place!? And what, exactly, is MY place?!” 

The alpha’s eyes narrow as he studies his breathless mate-to-be, mouth quirked open quizzically. "Come," he says neatly, gesturing to the desk. "Sit."

Will's face burning hot with righteous indignity, he throws his hands to the empty space across from the Duke. "You can see as plainly as I do, there is only one chair and you are sitting in it."

The lanky Alpha pushes out with a small sigh, making space between himself and the desk. He glances back up at his Omega. And Will's eyes fly open wide as he pats his lap. 

Will swallows sharply. He isn't certain if it's fear or curiosity that spurs him forward, but there he stands, fists clenched, mere centimeters away from the man. He bites down hard on his lip. "If….if I disobey you, will you send me back to my parents?" 

The Duke shakes his head softly, one hand reaching out to gently stroke Will's wrist. "No, my darling. You're never going back. Besides, I've waited for you long enough. What harm is there in waiting a bit longer?"

"What do you mean, waited for me?" Will sways uncomfortably, his fingers unfolding slightly. 

The Alpha laughs beneath his breath, continuing to simply run his thumb along Will's wrist. The sensation is numbingly good. Will's body hums in tune with it, like a string being plucked by a Master Musician. "Sit," the command comes again. 

Will has not met many Alphas, and those he has have had unnervingly overpowering scents. This one is different. The Duke's scent unfolds like a flower, welcoming Will in, inviting him to partake in its flavors. Will sinks in a bit closer, nosing the Alpha's neck, once again surprised by the satiny feel of his skin. 

A gentle tug has him swung around and perched backwards on the edge of the Alpha's lap, the electricity of their contact sending pleasure signals straight through Will's center. Unwittingly, he lets out a slight moan. 

"You see, my dearest Will, your clothing is not suited for your future lifestyle." 

"Mmmmm," Will hums, half-dazed. "What do you mean…?" The alpha's masterful hands slide over his silken tunic as Will drowns happily in his scent. Will hadn’t realized until this moment how thin the material of his new clothes are. He wonders if they are all like this. He can feel the facet of each of the Alpha's fingers as they glide across his chest. His breath hitches as either hand finds a rock hard nipple and pinches down. He turns to hide his face in the thicket of curls as a bitten-off moan escapes.

“These clothes were specially designed for maternity and child-bearing,” the Alpha rasps against his ear. Slowly, either pointer-finger finds a secret slit in the folds of the fabric, pulling them away to reveal each pink, hardening bud. “After all, our pups will seek nourishment at all hours of the day,” he murmurs, adding “As will I.” 

Will jumps as a clear vision enters his mind: the astute, mysterious Alpha bearing down on his weeping tits, hungrily latching on. His face burns with embarrassment. At some point, Will must have begun to move because now he finds himself closing the distance between himself and the mysterious Duke, flattening his back against the solid wall that is his chest. 

"And this," the Alpha hums, dipping one hand lower, dragging it down the length of Will's shirt until he reaches his belly "Is for our pups to grow." The cleverly hidden folds loosen with each flick of a button, until the fabric hangs off his waist like a drape. "They will have room to move, Dear Will. It will be my singular duty and honor in this life, to watch my seed grow inside you. 

"I…But I don't want…" 

A thumb sweeps across Will's parted lips to slip inside, muddling his voice. "But you will want."   
Angling his chin into the collar at Will's throat, the pins press into Will's jugular, and the boy seizes in pleasure. "Already your body is responding to me, sweet boy. Even as we sit here, I can smell your slick as it dries against my trousers."

Will bolts upright, gasping sharply at the thought. Lost in the moment, he hadn't even realized that he was leaking out. A shameful, disgusting act. Immediately he pulls off from the alpha, backing away quickly and severing all contact, his body still humming from the heat. "I'm ….forgive me, my Lord, I didn't mean to...I didn't know…

The Alpha only smiles his secretive smile, silver eyes sparkling in the dim light of the room. 

Will tries to gather himself quickly as he staggers his way to the door, shaking re-doing all the fasteners that the Alpha had undone. 

"Will?" The Duke calls after him. 

The Omega stops at the doorway, hand on the handle, his gaze distant. "Y-yes?" 

"When it is the two of us, I'd like it if you call me by my given name...Hannibal." 

"Y-yes, my Lord…..er…. Hannibal." The feeling of the name escaping his lips leaves him vibrating like a tuning fork as he slips silently through the door. 

******

In the silence of his study, Hannibal glances down at the fresh pool of slick staining his pant leg. He dips two fingers in, swirling them around as the scent of virgin omega fills the air. 

He lifts them to his mouth, sucking hungrily, his blood pumping feverishly as he takes in the sweet nectar. He repeats the motion until his leg is a wet mess of saliva and slick and his lips are red and raw from partaking.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal wastes no time gathering Will's face in his hands and pressing their foreheads together, becoming so close Will is getting dizzy again from the scent. "My sweet boy, don't you see? You are not the only one who quietly suffers in anticipation."

The voice on the other side of the door bades him enter. Will clears his throat, balancing the oil lamp in one hand and pushing into the room with the other. If Will thought his room was ostentatious, it's nothing compared to the Duke's. The alpha is perched on the edge of a bed that is far too big for just one man, even a considerably well sized one like ….Hannibal. Will has been practicing that name in his head and out loud. He's not sure what to think of the strange and off-putting Alpha. But he likes the way his name rolls off his lips. At the very least, the eyes that seemingly follow him everywhere finally have a name to them. It makes him a bit more human, rather than…

Hannibal looks up at him with a nearly genuine smile, his eyes glittering in the firefight. "Will. Dearest." He sets aside the heavy book on his lap and pats the bed beside him. 

Will chews on his lip. "I want to apologise again for...what happened earlier. I want to assure you that it's never happened before, and I'm ashamed that--" 

"Nonsense!" Hannibal exclaims. Will jumps a bit when the Alpha wraps his hands in Will's, pulling him closer in. "Will, never ever apologise for your biological responses. Especially not where I am concerned. Your first few times in the presence of any alpha are bound to bring about certain effects, and surely even moreso regarding your betrothed. It's a beautiful miracle of nature. And nothing to hide from or feel shame for. Understood?" 

Will nods slightly. This chamber is nothing like the other places of the mansion Will has been in thus far. It's walls are cool and blue, the furniture more simple yet sophisticated. It is saturated in Hannibal's scent. Will isn't certain if he minds that. Yet. 

Those piercing eyes read Will's distant expression like a book laid open. After a pause, he asks "Are you settling in well?"

"There is...well. There is something…" Will's voice trails off as he is suddenly reminded of the true reason he knocked on Lord Lecter's chamber at such a late hour. He tugs on the bottom of the night shirt he wears. It's barely enough to cover his backside. The matching robe is no help at all, as it is practically see-through and drapes open at the front. 

If Hannibal sees the obvious problem, he's not letting on. He blinks, folding his arms thoughtfully across his chest, one thumb perched on his chin. "What is it my darling? You can tell me everything."

"It's ….this…." He squirms uncomfortably, embarrassed at the filmyness of the robe. He holds the light away, crossing one leg in front of the other in an attempt to hide himself. 

"Is it the measurements? I had my personal tailor procure it himself."

"It's not the measurements, my Lord, it's the...the whole nature of the garment. It's far too short and q-quite breezy if I may say so. I checked the other night-time gowns and they are all made of this very fine fabric and cut about the same and…"

"But of course," Hannibal states matter-of-factly. "These night robes are tailored to your exact specifications. They allow for freedom of movement and breathability." 

Will sputters, his face on fire with embarrassment. He hugs himself with his free arm, hiding as much of his exposed skin as possible. 

"Let me see." Hannibal relieves Will of the lantern, much to his chagrin. He places it on the table beside the bed and turns the flame up, exposing more of Will's naked form beneath the gossamer folds. He holds his fingers level with the bottom of the robe, lightly touching Will's thigh, just beneath his groin. Will jumps back, inhaling sharply through his nose even as he tries his best to stay in place for the Duke. "Yes," Lord Hannibal concludes approvingly. "It's the precisely correct length." 

"D-don't you supposed it's….its a bit short?," Will stammers. 

He is rewarded only with a soft chuckle. "A properly bred Omega wears garments that facilitate access, not hinder it. Turn for me, Will."

Will blinks. "...Pardon?"

"I am your Alpha," Hannibal reminds him softly. "I asked you to turn around for me." 

Will lets go of the breath he didn't know he was holding in. After a long pause, and with his mind swimming in the several hundred things he ought to do instead of obeying him, he slowly turns his back. With his fingers flexing and his lip in his mouth, he waits. 

The touches begin on the backs of his legs, experimental and soft. They travel up to the hem of the garment, one hand dipping beneath to pet the rounded globe of his buttocks. Will jumps, his attempt to tear away thwarted by a strong arm wrapped around his waist. A sharp wail catches in the back of his throat as he struggles against the probing fingers. 

"Did you clean yourself up after our little incident, my sweet boy?" Hannibal's voice is little more than a whisper. Will squirms against the sensation of two digits prying his cheeks apart and dipping into the crevasse. 

"Y-yes," Will squeaks. 

"Show me," comes the dark rasp against the base of his neck. Pressure from the collar injects a pleasureful shiver straight through him. He doesn't understand why he is too weak to fight. He doesn't want this. Wants freedom, wants choice. Will wants….he wants…..

The desires that were so clear mere days ago are beginning to fade into the haze of his memory. His hands move to his backside almost robotically, clamping a firm hold on his bottom before spreading it open. The film fabric is pushed up over his hips, the shock of cool air ghosting across his exposed entrance. "Lord Hannibal…." The powerful rebuke to his sorely unethical treatment fizzles out somewhere in his throat, spiraling into a weak-willed plea. 

Something cold and soft plays at the tight ring of muscle, swirling around his entrance and making him dizzy. A weak whimper catches in his throat and he is helpless to stop a fresh bead of slick as it rolls out. His stomach wrenches tight, some unnamed force holding him there while the Alpha inspects him. 

"When was your last heat?" the Duke asks. 

Will trudges through his recent memories, struggling through the fog the contact is making of his brain. "I'm….not sure."

Hannibal lets out a soft grunt and withdraws his hand. He spins Will around without warning, flattening a palm across his cheek. He levels his gaze to Will's, and for the first time Will can clearly see a bit of green swimming in the mercurial pools. The Duke's brow furls, a deep line of worry creasing his forehead. "...you're burning up."

******

The cold shock of the Physician's instruments make Will suddenly long once more for the Duke's touch.

"You may feel a bit of pressure," the physician warns. Will tries his best not to cry out as the steel rod enters him. He can see it snaking between his spread legs, his chest heaving. Adding insult to injury, he's still wearing this forsaken night robe. He doesn't care what Hannibal thinks….he hates it. The doctor hums thoughtfully, prodding at Will's insides as if he were some kind of livestock and not a human being. 

Will swallows dryly. 

The matter worsens when the Duke steps into Will's line of sight. Of course he knows the Alpha is here --after all, Will is his property now and he must take all care in ensuring things go smoothly. 

"His cervix is 5 and one-half inches inward, tilted forward slightly."

"To aide in conception?," Hannibal remarks. 

"Precisely." 

"Ah." 

Will studies the ceiling. It's a lighthearted scene of deer frolicking through a wooded forest. The sunlight plays across the edges of the mural. Cherubs dance around the lanterns suspended from the wall. This must be the ballroom. Without warning, one of his legs is lifted up onto the Physician's shoulder as another instrument takes the place of the first. This one looks more like a small pear with a screw at one end. The deep grooves in the mouth of the instrument suggests it opens. The doctor coats the apparatus with some sort of oil, and Will's eyes widen. Surely that's not going where Will thinks it's…….

The Doctor lurches forward and instinctively, the omega throws himself into reverse, scrambling towards the end of the lounge, eyes wide with fright. He stops when he hits the hard wall of Hannibal's chest. At some point he must have moved from his place beside the doctor, but Will could not sense it. An arm winds its way beneath his chin and around his shoulders, applying pressure onto the silver collar, numbing his senses like a drug. 

"Calm yourself, my darling," comes the gentle hum. "The good Doctor must assess your inner walls. To determine its elasticity."

"Elasticity? For what?" 

"Oh, dear," the doctor lets out an exasperated murmur from beneath his breath, his shoulders slumping. 

An ensuing silence implies that The Duke shares the beta's bewilderment. "Dearest Will," he begins slowly. "What education have you received regarding your biology?" 

"You mean, other than presently?"

The Alpha nods. 

Will shrugs. "None that I can recall. Why?" 

The sudden sensation of fingers prying at his hole makes him jump, but he doesn't get far. The top half of the Alpha's weight is pressing firmly downward, holding him steady as the uncomfortable stretch intensifies. "Please", Will rasps, his fingers digging into the Alpha's bicep. 

"Almost there, young Master," the physician mutters. Just at the point Will is certain he will split in two, the instrument is pushed forward, seating itself inside. His legs are shaking. The icy lump of metal is freezing him from the inside out. But at least the horrible stretching sensation has stopped. 

He rolls his head back to the cushion, panting as his body fights against itself to accept the thing. 

"Beautiful," Hannibal whispers against the ellipse of his ear, smoothing Will's hair back and planting a firm kiss on his forehead. "Well done, my darling." 

"I'm going to begin now," The doctor warns. "It is imperative you hold him still." 

Will cannot understand the cruelty and the callousness that comes from a man with such soft hands and such a soothing voice. He curses the collar for sapping his strength and draining his will to fight back, hates himself even more for not being able to hate the man who put it on him. He despises the sickening feeling of being watched and having even the illusion of privacy being ripped from him.

The device, buried deep within him, opens. Will bites off a cry, tossing his head into the crook of the Alpha's arm as he is impaled upon it. The pain is fleeting as the pressure mounts, soon leaving his brain buzzing with chemicals he cannot possibly know. 

"5.5 inches," the physician says. "If I go any further he may tear."

"And then I'd have to kill you for hurting him," the Duke says. His tone suggests he is joking, but the Doctor goes pale. He quickly unscrews the thing, sliding it out faster than it went in. 

Will's spent hole collapses, something strange inside of him begging for its return. He longs, yearns to be filled with something. And he hates it. Before, he felt perfectly fine in that area. And now he feels desperately, terribly empty. He clings to the Duke, staring out into the middle distance as the Doctor lowers the edge of his robe, covering him as much as the flimsy material allows. 

"He is not in heat. Yet." He wipes down the instruments with a sterile-smelling liquid before wrapping them in clean linens and storing them in a bulky leather case. "He will be soon. I would say another two, three days. When he is in full estrus, his canal will be able to expand to suit an Alpha's knot."

This news seems to please Hannibal, as he offers the Doctor an approving, if tight-lipped smile . Will watches from the lounge as the Duke shows the Doctor out. 

When Hannibal closes the doors, he turns on one heel with a pleasant smile, the kind of which Will has ever witnessed him make. He crosses the room, stooping on one knee to gather Will's hands in his. Will takes note of the difference in size, and how elegant and long the Alpha's fingers are compared to his own. How could someone so refined and otherworldly want anything to do with such a plain Omega? He straightens up, one leg crossing under the other as his training takes over. 

"My darling, it's time." 

Will blinks slowly, waiting for the words to register. "...time?" 

"Your next Heat approaches and we will not waste this opportunity. I will send a courier to your Father's estate and inform him of the wedding." 

The one has eyes flash open, and suddenly he finds it within himself to rise to his feet. "A wedding? M-marriage? I mean…" Will cannot understand. What could possibly be the hurry? Surely, he will have many more heats--once each month, to be exact! "I don't think---I mean, I don't see why….?" 

Hannibal wastes no time gathering Will's face in his hands and pressing their foreheads together, becoming so close Will is getting dizzy again from the scent. "My sweet boy, don't you see? You are not the only one who quietly suffers in anticipation." 

His mouth draws closer, a puff of warm breath landing on Will's lips. Instinctively they part, and Will makes out a slight whimper before they are devoured by the exquisite taste and feel of the Alpha's. He gasps and fails to pull away, his head caught as in a vice as the cool silver ring presses against the mating mark. 

Any feelings of dread are swiftly replaced by the sweet sting of pleasure, his body now attuned to the Alpha's touch. When Hannibal pulls away, Will catches himself following forward. 

"You will rest," the Duke commands happily. "I shall take care of everything. What flowers do you prefer? I will go to the ends of the earth to bring them here for you. I've had a tailor make a wedding robe specifically to your measurements. I will have the invitations drawn up and King and courtier alike shall be in attendance…" 

Will is lost in a fog as he continues to rattle off his plans. It's becoming more and more clear that the arrangement between the Duke and Will's parents has been in the works for far longer than Will himself cares to ponder. 

"Why me?," He murmurs. 

The two seemingly harmless words stop Hannibal in his tracks. His face falls sharply as storm clouds roll in across his eyes. "You do not remember a thing, do you?" 

Will rakes a hand through his hair, feeling a swell of righteous rage welling up once again. "How was I to know there was anything to forget?"

The Duke inhales deeply through his nostrils, seemingly centering himself as he chews on his reply. The storm clouds roll back as he breathes out, a bit of green showing through once more. "Two days." he says. "Until then, you should rest. You've been through quite the ordeal." 

The last sentence comes out from the side of his mouth, his silver eyes narrowing into slits as he turns to tear the door open. It bounces on its hinges as he steps through and it closes in Will's face. 

Will tries the door and isn't surprised when he finds it unlocked. Relief is quickly replaced by the sickening knowledge that Hannibal simply has no need: he is everywhere, always. And there is no escape. 

******

The Duke wasn't jesting when he said that every item in Will's wardrobe was designed for easy access. He throws the high-necked tunic on with a huff, pinching the buttons through their holes and kicking the boots to standing. He makes a mental note to search the mansion for his items from home. His stomach flips when he sees the courier gallop out of the gate and down the cobblestone road, a Matter of Most High Importance peeking out from the satchel at his hip. 

His only relief throughout the day is knowing the Master has shut himself in his chambers. So save for one room, Will has the entire estate to himself. He wanders the garden and the woods outside the ancient walls, all the while trying to ignore the sweet pang that is steadily increasing in intensity from somewhere deep within. 

In one way at least, he's experiencing a sort of freedom he hasn't enjoyed since before he presented as Omega. At this point during his pre-estrus, his parents would have locked him away, refusing all company and banning any outdoor activities. The reasoning behind this was three-fold: to protect Will from roving Alphas who would no doubt be drawn to his scent, to keep him from becoming prematurely with child, and "most importantly" (according to his father) to protect and preserve the highly valuable treasure between Will's legs--his virginity. 

Without it he'd be worthless. Plenty of Omegas had lost their "virtue" before they could marry, either because it was given or because it was forcefully taken from them. Society is unkind to Omegas in general. But at least an untouched and generally obedient Omega can fetch a high price to the right bidder. 

He wonders what his price was. 

For the first time since his arrival, Will eats by himself. He still takes his meal at the obscenely long banqueting hall, smiling sheepishly up at the cook who doubles as a servant as he places a beautifully prepared dish before him. The cook, who usually offers a nod of acknowledgement in return, doesn't so much as glance his way. 

Will pokes at his food before deciding he isn't hungry. 

He deliberately walks past the closed doors of the study, one time even growing so bold as to touch the handle. His heart falls when he quietly tries the knob and finds it locked. 

He doesn't know what he said that was so unforgivable. He forces himself not to care. That's right. He is not in this situation because he chose to be, so whatever Hannibal's qualms, he refuses to feel guilty for them. The Duke put himself in this situation as much as he had Will, so all the merrier if he should suffer for it. 

He changes his outfits five, six, seven times. Each time growing more frustrated at the Duke's sick taste in Omega's clothing. Buttons that come undone at the breast and waist. Robes that split in the back. 

He puts on the least detestable of them, tying his kerchief so that the folds neatly hide the silver collar. It itches like mad. 

The Duke never makes an appearance throughout the day. Will has tried to force himself to stop thinking about it, but catches himself glancing at those closed doors every time he passes. 

At dinner, he doesn't bother smiling at the cook. He gathers the energy to drain the soup and eat about half the bread roll, knowing the cook will only be angrier if he doesn't bother to eat any of it. 

In the back corners of a linen closet, Will finds a long dressing robe. It's obviously worn out and made for a female, but it is clean and it's about the only thing that isn't saturated in the Duke's scent. What's more, it covers everything from his neck to his calves. The perfect sleeping attire. 

He grins at himself in the mirror, feeling devious and rather pleased. He lets his hair out of the red satin ribbon, his curls flying loose, falling down into his eyes. He bounds into the oversized bed and snuffs out the candle, an impish grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

Just as sleep begins to pull Will down into its warm embrace, something small hits the window with a "clack". 

By the second "clack", Will is creeping to the wall beside it, peeling away the sash to carefully peer down. He is greeted only with darkness. 

A third "clack". 

Will throws open the window, half-hanging out of it and squinting to make out any form he can. "Who's there?" He whispers. 

"Shhhhh," comes the reply. Then a welcoming, familiar voice. "It's me." 

Will gasps, his heart just about leaping out of his chest. "Clarence??!" 

"Yes." 

"What--what are you doing here???!", he whisper- screams. "If Lord Lecter catches you he'll kill you!" 

The flicker of a faint light comes to life, illuminating the sad, sleepless face of the boy he's known his whole life. "I don't care. It would be a worthy death if it means seeing you again." 

Will scouts the parameter in a hurry, looking left then right and into the room back behind him. He wouldn't doubt Hannibal is here, watching. His scent hangs heavy in the air. 

Will shakes it off as best he can, grabbing onto a stray branch from a tree that has grown too close to the wall. He imagines it's not a very dignified sight--after all, women's dressing gowns are not known to be prime outfitting for shimmying down tall oak trees in the middle of the night. 

It doesn't seem to phase Clarence….Sweet Clarence, who has spent nearly his entire life chasing after Will and falling headlong into trouble after him. 

Their embrace is brief and all too unsatisfying before Clarence lifts the latch on the lantern, letting the cold evening air blow out the light. They stand there, panting into each other for a moment before Will finally asks "Where did you come from? I mean, where are you going to go?" 

Clarence touches his elbow, gently drawing him into his arms. His face falls deathly serious. "That depends on if you're coming with me." 

Will pauses. Perhaps it's the pause that hurts and startles them both. Clarence's grip slips a bit, but Will shakes him. "I want to. Of course I do. But I will not let you throw your life away." 

"I had a plan," Clarence rasps. "I want you to know that I was always going to come for you. And when the courier came today, and I saw that fancy envelope I knew we couldn't wait."

When Clarence tugs on Will's arm, turning to go, Will holds firm. "Wait. This… this man. He's no one to mess with."

"Exactly why I'm getting you out of here." 

"I'm serious, Clarence!"

Clarence pulls harder, until Will topples over and into the circle of his arms. "As am I. I'm not going to leave you. But we have to go or we will miss the boat."

"...boat..?" Will glances back at the gargantuan structure within the twisted trees. It is silent and lifeless, surrounded by the pitch blackness of a starless night. He thinks of the mysterious, brooding Alpha and danger that envelops him like a stormcloud. 

He swallows hard and inwardly wishes the Duke a bitter and sarcastic farewell. 

Hand in hand, both Beta and Omega make their way swiftly through the twisted woods, disappearing into the night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is not the one who will suffer for his own actions. As an Omega, the law looks upon him the same as it does a horse or a set of fine china. The profoundness outweighs the simplicity of Clarence’s crime: he stole the Duke’s property.

They stick to the back roads, moving swiftly through the trees, as fast as the horses' legs will allow. Clarence having stolen a carriage from Will's parents' stables might increase their expediency, but it also worsens the outcome if they don't make it. Nevertheless, whether Will has any qualms about it is a moot point now. Will hugs a borrowed coat around himself, peering out at the woods as they rush past, his teeth chattering from both the cold and the mercilessly rough ride. 

Even in the midst of so many dangers, for the very first time in his life, Will relishes the taste of true freedom. The moonlight pours in through the sparse branches, easily exposing them to potential passersby. Will readies his father's rifle. If anybody tries to stop them, they will be in for a bloody surprise. 

They ride through the night, pushing the poor horses to their limits as the coach rattles over rocks and brush. Will would not be surprised if he's got bruises on his ribs after this. 

They reach the harbor just as the sun's orange eye begins to awaken over the dusky horizon. The smell of fish guts and soot hangs heavy in the air. Will has been to port only once before, as a young boy joining his father on business. This of course, was long before Will's sex revealed itself; back when his father thought his son would inherit the estate (as opposed to becoming a bargaining chip under it). 

Marriage to the Duke would have meant the complete acquisition of the Graham fortune, upon Lord Graham's death. While Will could care less about owning one cent of his family's estate, it feels vindicating to know it won't end up in the hands of a ruthless man like Hannibal. 

They leave the carriage and horses in a quiet thicket just outside of the port. Clarence gives Will's hand a gentle squeeze as he hesitantly glances back. "Don't you worry for Philip and Midnight. I've paid a good friend handsomely to see them safely home. After a well-deserved rest, of course." 

Will is comforted by this. He should have known that Clarence would consider the well being of the horses that they'd hand-raised together. 

The waking sunlight flickers across the masts as they make their way to the boats. Will has so many questions: how did Clarence secure a plan at such short notice? How did he manage to pay for passage? And where, exactly are they going? 

As if reading his thoughts, Clarence states "We have a long journey ahead. I will explain everything once we set sail." 

The ship is called the Kunardia. It is a healthy sized vessel, and Will is no seaman but he supposes it could fit upwards of 30 men rather comfortably. Its sails are blood red--a color that now makes his stomach turn--but it looks sturdy and rather ornate for its bulk.The Captain of the ship is less than thrilled when she lays eyes on the road-weary runaways, placing one hand on her sword as she shuffles her way down the ladder. Her face is salt-stained and bitten by wind. Her bulbous nose suggests an over fondness for drinking. But her bright green eyes pierce straight through her wrinkled brow as she pokes Clarence in the chest with one weathered finger. "Ya got the money?" 

"Y-yes," Clarence stammers, reaching in the pocket of his coat, which is still draped around Will"s shoulders. As he rummages around, Will picks up the distinct orchestral sound of silver clattering together. He gives Clarence a puzzled look and receives a half-guilty, half-apologetic smile. 

A fistful of silver forks, each one with a engraved initial "G" on its handle, is deposited into the Captain's outstretched hand. She inspects it carefully before offering a "humph" of approval and stepping aside to let them aboard. 

Just as Will steps foot onto the deck, she mutters. "Hold it." 

Will remains perfectly still as she circles around him, sniffing lightly. "An omega?" She turns on one heel to glare at Clarence. "You dare bring an Omega aboard my ship? And one nearing Heat, no less?" 

"Madame, I do apologize for not mentioning it sooner--"

"Hogwash!," she spits. "You know how many men I've got in my employ, boy? Eighty-six!" 

"Eighty-s…?" Will catches himself saying it aloud. He turns to survey the deck, which is indeed packed and swarming with deck-hands. The stench is overwhelming, but it's not the typical smell of sweat and dirt and sea-water. It's heavier, like a cheap musk, and it makes Will's eyes water. 

"Do you know what a bunch a sea-faring mongrels get hungry for the most, out on those waves boy?" 

Clarence swallows sharply. "N-no, ma'am." 

Her finger now assaults Will, jabbing so hard into his chest that it stings and he scrambles backwards into Clarence's arms. His expression must be one of comical horror, because the Captain throws her head back and lets out a hearty laugh. "Little morsels like your scrawny Omega friend here." 

"He's not my friend!," Clarence barks suddenly. The Captain raises an intrigued eyebrow and pauses, waiting patiently for Clarence to continue. The young man straightens up, puffing out his chest and making sure to stand as tall as possible. All around them, the deckhands are a sea of raspy chuckles. "He…" Clarence swallows. "He's my husband." 

After another pause, the Captain bursts out laughing, clutching her stomach in a gravelly belly-laugh as her crew chimes in. "And I'm Queen Charlotte!"

"I have more money!" Clarence pipes up. "Please---I will give you everything, right down to my last farthing!" 

Will clings to Clarence, turning into his chest, his face burning. Suddenly any elation or relief is replaced with the insurmountable feeling of helplessness. He should have said no. He should have stayed with the Duke, should have given himself in marriage regardless of the cost. Now he has only himself to blame for the life of sweet Clarence, Will's best friend and his only love. 

"Very well," she states.

It takes Will a moment for the words to register.

"R-really?," Clarence says. 

"But don't you two be holding out on me! Every last farthing, you hear? And I won't be held responsible for anything what happens to the Omega-boy, so you'd best keep one eye open. Some o'these boys tend to get rowdy, especially around an unmated bitch in heat."

Will does his best to ignore the moniker, opting instead to follow closely on Clarence's heels as they board the ship. He empties his pockets for the captain, and out tumbles bits and remnants of his childhood; his mother's golden thimble, a beautiful bee broach she'd gifted him on his 13th birthday, his grandfather's cufflinks. 

Will looks on, expressionless as the valuables change hands. As he sees it, it's money well spent in exchange for their lives. 

******

The Captain enters her quarters, resting one leg on her desk as she overturns her leather satchel and the goods spill out. "There we have it," she announces. "Every last bit. We even searched the pair just to be sure. Neither of em had much of anything on 'em to begin with. Especially the skinny little whelp. Still,I imagine he must be something special for you to be goin' through all this trouble."

"It is no trouble," Lord Lecter remarks, his eyes fixed on the long glass of wine in his hand. "I consider it a labor of love."

The Captain scoffs beneath her breath, crossing her arms in front of her. "Well your Lordship, you call it whatever you'd like as long as I get what I was promised."

"Fifteen times the amount of the asking price," Lord Lecter says with a nod. He carefully collects each piece in a messenger's tote, finding a secure home for each item."I will have my accountant tally the value and deliver the funds himself."

"Good." Normally she wouldn't allow the impertinence of anybody to sit in the Captain's Chair, but there is something about this man that freezes the blood in her veins. He offers her a drink, and hesitantly she accepts. "We will be leaving port, the sooner the better. Would you like my men to apprehend the boys now or---" 

"Not yet." The Duke takes another lingering sip, swirling it around as he gazes out the port-hole. The sun is nearly up, the ships bell's sounding, a distant steam engine chugging along. "Where were we headed again?," he asks nonchalantly. 

"Erhm...Chantley, Sir. On the South end of Bregton Island." As a mysterious smile crosses the Duke's face, the Captain feels the slightest tug of hesitation."It-it's said an Omega aboard the ship is a dark omen."

The Duke's smile widens, his silver eyes glistening. "It has been so long since I traversed the sea."

*****

Will moans exquisitely, letting the almost-too-warm water envelope him, steadily calming the constant ache of his bones and the pounding in his head. 

The Captain had been surprisingly kind after their initial acquaintance, going so far as to give them private quarters: a magnanimous gesture, considering her already overcrowded ship. He lifts one leg out of the tub, wiggling his toes and tossing back his head. He feels weightless, the water sloshing in perfect time with the rocking of the ship. "Mmmm….Clarence, the water is divine. Won't you join me?"

Clarence is purposefully staying a respectful distance away, his back turned as he pretends to polish his boots. "You know I can't." 

"But what if I want you to?," Will pouts, turning onto his belly, arms tucked beneath his chin. 

He watches Clarence's adam's apple bob up and down. "You are too close to your heat, the Captain is a Beta and even *she* could smell it on you." 

"But doesn't that mean *you* can smell it too?"

"Yes, but--"

"Then come *join* me."

Will feels an impatient itch beginning at the base of his mating gland, spreading like wildfire and flushing his cheeks. He cannot lie to himself about his arousal-- his nipples haven't gone down since before the carriage ride. He licks his lips enticingly, hoping to catch the corner of Clarence's vision. He squeezes his legs together far beneath the waterline where Clarence cannot see, rubbing himself on the base of the tub. 

"Stop," Clarence rasps. Suddenly his eyes flash upwards at Will, anger and fear and arousal clearly present in an expression that looks not unlike a starving man. 

Beneath the waves, Will stills. 

Clarence softens his tone. "I want you, my love. Heaven above, do I want you. But I want *you*, when I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that we both want it, and not because of some biological force persuading you to do it.” 

Rage punches through the longing and Will spins back around, flopping in his back with an undignified splash. "Hmph!"

A slight grin tugs at the corners of Clarence's mouth. He lets a quiet moment pass between them before speaking again. "What is that thing around your neck?"

Will has gotten so comfortable he'd nearly forgotten it was on. He gives it an irritated tug, and pleasurable sparks race up and down his back from the pressure on his gland. He quickly bites off a moan before it can escape his lips. "The Duke called it a Submission Collar," he answers in disgust. "Two prongs on the inside are embedded beneath the skin. It's supposed to keep me...complaint."

"Hah. Perhaps it's defective."

Will snickers. 

After his bath, Will manages to make an outfit out of some extra clothes in the trunk at the foot of the bed. A pair of pants that are three sizes too big and a linen shirt with leather laces bunch at his waist, fitted by a wide belt. Clarence smiles approvingly when Will spins for him. Clarence washes up with the extra bath water, wringing out his long brown hair and combing it through with his fingers.

After a crust of bread paired with day-old milk for a meal, the rickety little bed in the corner is calling them. Clarence manages to wedge a pillow between them. It makes Will roll his eyes but he also appreciates and understands his reasoning. Betas are not immune to the call of an Omega in heat, though they do tend to keep their wits about them better than some Alphas. Will is the big spoon: his back to the wall as Clarence keeps his eye on the door, just as the Captain suggested. 

A harrowing ride through the night makes staying awake impossible, made even worse by the unusually calm seas. Within the hour, both young men are fast asleep. 

When Will slides his heavy eyes open, the sunlight is on the other side of the room. He lets out a contented sigh and stretches his aching limbs, a wrinkle of concern knitting his brow when he touches only cloth. He straightens up, scanning the room as alarm seizes him. "Clarence?" 

"He took a walk," a gravelly voice replies. From the shadows, a stranger approaches, followed by several others. As they swarm the space, an unmistakable stench chokes all the air from Will's lungs. Will jolts upright, searching his surroundings for something, anything resembling a weapon. He plucks a heavy candle stand from its place as he staggers to his feet, pointing it menacingly at the figure. 

"S-stay back!" Heart pounding, he frantically swings the hunk of brass out in front of himself.  
It renders only husky laughter. 

"We could smell you from the shipyard," the leader says, closing the distance between them. He captures the lamp on a downward swing, wrenching it away from the frightened Omega. It clatters to the floor. "Awww come now, sweet thing," the stranger purrs. "We're gonna make you feel all better."

Roving hands brush against Will's back, sending alarm bells panging in his brain. He lets out a startled cry, but a soot-covered hand smothers it. There are too many hands to count, all holding his limbs back and tearing at his clothes. 

"Hold him down," another commands. With that, Will is flipped onto his stomach and flattened to the bed, a scream tearing from his throat. Something is probing all around his bottom half, painfully dragging the thick belt down past his bony hips. "Yer gonna take our knots, boy. We're all gonna put pups deep in yer belly one after another. Ya might yell the first few times, but you'll soon quiet down." 

A digit wanders too close to his face, and Will takes advantage, biting down as hard as he can and revelling in the scream it produces. "Fuck you!," he spits. 

His bared cheeks hit the open air, something warm and wet landing between. As it runs down his hole, a foreign finger presses in, trying to break past the stubborn ring of muscle. Will clamps down with a growl. "Shit, Boss," a third voice announces. "He's tight as a vice. You think he might be a virgin?"

"Most definitely," comes the reply. "See that collar 'round his neck? He's been spoken for. No matter. Keep going. Even if ya have to break him." 

The pressure increases, white-hot pain splitting him in two. Even in the midst of this, his mind is zeroed in on Clarence's whereabouts. What did they do to him? Is he hurt? Is he dead?

From behind him, the chamber door swings open, bouncing off its hinges as it hits the wall. Momentarily, a hush falls over them before the ring-leader confronts the intruder. "The Hell r'you?" 

"Two seconds." 

"....what?"

"That is the amount of time you have to vacate this room." 

The sound of the man's voice freezes the blood in Will's veins. As the pack of Alphas mull over their decision to flee or fight, Will scrambles to gather his clothes. The ensuing scuffle is quick and violent and leaves each man laying silent in a pool of their own blood. 

Will crouches on the bed, panting, his gaze fixed downward. He doesn't want to look up. He knows who he will see if he does. 

As an unnerving quietness falls, a familiar gloved hand is offered to him, palm up. Will studies the elegant fingers, streaked with red, and a small whimper escapes his lips.

"Come, darling," The Duke gently prods. 

It's useless for Will to cry out, fight back or to try to run. Where would he go? A strange feeling tugs at his heart as he accepts and Hannibal helps him rise to his feet. Is this...gratefulness?

"I-I'm…" 

The Duke gently wipes a fleck of blood from Will's lip. "Don't speak, my love. Everything is well under control."

******

Will looks on from the pinnace as the big ship goes up in flames. Shivering beside him, shaking and wet and wrapped in a heavy wool blanket, Clarence glares at the man responsible. 

Will had fought Hannibal on leaving without him. He threatened to stay aboard and go down in the blaze if he didn't rescue his best friend, too. Perhaps the Duke knew he'd already driven Will to near madness, because he acquiesced without much argument at all. 

Will feels poorly for the Captain, despite her treachery; she could not have known that by accepting the Duke's bribe she was inviting her own death. 

"The Courier," Clarence says finally. "It was you, wasn't it?" 

An explosion erupts, yards away on the ship’s deck. It wanes to one side for one hopeless moment before sinking beneath the waves with a dying groan. There are no voices to join the Kunardia in her swan song.There isn’t a spot of blood on the Alpha sitting across from them, yet somehow Will knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is the cause of it. They had slipped away like shadows in the dying light, past bodies already strewn across the halls. Now, there is no hope of salvation, other than what the Duke might be willing to offer. Will stares wide-eyed at the Duke, hot tears stinging his eyes. 

Hannibal leisurely polishes an ornate blade, taking his time as he meticulously turns it this way and that, wiping it clean. Finally, without diverting his eyes from his weapon, he murmurs, "Your deduction is correct.” 

Clarence jolts upwards, fists balled, teeth bared, causing the small boat to sway violently beneath them. Will clings to him, trying with all his might to drag him back down onto the seat. "Who did you talk to?,” he practically screams. “Who did you pay off?” 

“The more pressing matter that should concern you is controlling your movements. Another boyish outburst like that could cost us all our lives.” 

“As opposed to just mine?” Clarence snorts. 

“If I wanted you dead you would know it. Now please, sit down. You are frightening my fiance.” 

“Will is not your--” 

A pleading squeeze on his shoulder convinces him to return, reluctantly, to the shabby little board. The Duke tosses him a paddle, keeping a second one for himself. He gestures to Will, waving his hand toward himself. HIs expression is one that suggests it is not a request. 

“You don’t have to,” Clarence pleads into Will’s ear. 

“There’s where you are mistaken,” Will replies numbly. Hugging himself, he carefully makes his way the few steps across to the other side of the boat. 

“Very good,” The Duke purrs, patting his lap. “Come now, my love. Just as we practiced.” 

Will swallows hard. Even as he hugs the thick blanket tightly around himself, he feels stripped completely bare. He can feel his face burning up with righteous indignation. “N….no,” he states, his voice barely above a whimper. A single tear escapes to roll down a reddened cheek. 

Hannibal levels himself, letting out an even sigh. “Will, dearest. Your father’s servant is in a most delicate situation. I don’t think you need to be reminded of the common consequences of actions such as the ones he has taken. I will do what I can to speak on his behalf. You have my word. However you must try and understand that I cannot in good conscience represent someone who doesn't feel remorse for their actions. Not even my those of my bride-to-be.” 

It takes every ounce of his strength to shove his rage down and turn around for the Duke. Sliding his eyes closed, he lowers himself onto his lap. Hannibal hums approvingly. 

“There now,” he hums, stroking Will’s back. “Right back where you belong.” 

Will cannot bring himself to look into Clarence’s eyes. The entire journey, he stares down at the ragged planks as they bead with sea water. The waves are kind to them, and Will breathes a small sigh of relief when the outline of land appears. 

It would seem that Hannibal had arrived hours earlier than he and Clarence. He must have ridden both day and night to intercept them, after wringing whatever information he needed out of his father’s servants, and bribed the Captain for whatever amount Clarence had promised her for safe passage weeks, maybe months before. How long had Clarence known about Will’s betrothal? It seems as if Will was the only one who had been completely in the dark about the plans his parents had made.

Any reprieve the sight of land brings is quickly snuffed out as they draw closer---Will’s father, face red and swollen with rage, stands alongside uniformed police. 

Will is not the one who will suffer for his own actions. As an Omega, the law looks upon him the same as it does a horse or a set of fine china. The profoundness outweighs the simplicity of Clarence’s crime: he stole the Duke’s property. 

They drag Clarence away before the boat even touches sand, a clatter of chains and white foam. It plays out as if in slow motion: Will screams, but no one there hears his cries. He reaches for Clarence, whose dead-eyed expression is one of a young man who has assigned himself to his fate. He is chained and half-dragged to shore, with nothing to offer Will except a sad glance over his shoulder. 

Will wants so badly to shout his love, to proclaim right then and there to everyone how the deep permanence of their bond. He recalls the Duke’s words, and bites his tongue so hard his lips are stained with blood. 

After it is moored, Hannibal offers Will his hand and together they step off the boat. “You will see him again, my darling,” he murmurs, slipping his arm around his waist. He grinds his mouth against Will’s ear, adding for only Will to hear, “Whether in this life or the next, is completely dependent upon your actions.” 

Lord Graham is bellowing at the top of his lungs as Clarence is hoisted into a paddywagon, the doors slammed shut in his face. “YOU WILL BURN!-------I’LL SEE YOU HANGED FOR THIS!-------- MY OWN DRIVER!-------- HOW COULD YOU?--------- WE ENTRUSTED YOU, BOY!----I’LL MOUNT YOUR THIEVING HEAD ON MY MANTLE------WRETCHED CROOK!-----” 

The Duke calmly produces from his waistcoat the small leather tote containing the Graham valuables. Seeing the familiar glint of his prized collection cools his wrath. He thanks the Duke, apologizing left and right for the behavior of his son and their ungrateful whelp of a servant, all the while keeping his gaze from ever landing anywhere near his son’s. 

“It is perfectly fine, Lord Graham. Please, calm your wrath. We will deal with the boy’s infractions in due time. As you can see, all is well. I personally made certain that every item was accounted for, and that your son was returned in one piece. And unsullied.” 

Will shivers.

“I owe you my thanks,” Lord Graham concedes. “I will see to it that the filthy son of a beggar’s whore hears his own neck crack for his lawlessness.” 

“It is said that love can make a man lose his mind,” The Duke offers. Suddenly Hannibal’s face brightens. “Now then,” He swings an arm around his future father in law, leading he and Will towards the direction of the nearby pub. “There are much happier matters to attend to. We have a wedding to plan for, and nary a moment to lose.” 

Will squeezes his eyes tight, wishing suddenly that he’d gone down with the ship.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Duke follows in after him, shutting the door and drawing both curtains. "Remove your clothes," he orders
> 
> Will's eyes flutter as his brain throws itself in reverse. "Wh-what?" 
> 
> "Your clothes, darling. Take them off. Or shall I do it for you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everybody for reading and sticking with me. Not to be overly sensitive, but please if you do choose to leave your frustrations in the comments I would ask that you put a little disclaimer if you did enjoy it and are just venting. I cannot seem to tell whether some readers are enjoying and just feel bad for the characters or if they honestly hate this fic. 
> 
> It is tagged Rape for a reason. This is not a "nice" story. There are plenty of fluff stories on AO3. Please be respectful of writers who choose to write differently. 
> 
> Not to ruin the surprise but I feel it necessary to warn you that what you are about to read is exactly as tagged. I hope you enjoy !!!! And thank you so much for your support ❤

It seems very odd to Will that a man so much more powerful than his father should employ such a skeleton staff. Growing up, Will was constantly surrounded by them: there wasn't anywhere he went that he wasn't accompanied by at least one servant, that one usually being Clarence. Being just a few years older than Will, he was taken on first as Will's personal Groom. When he presented as Omega, Clarence was sent to the stables and in his place was put an entire team: music teachers, posture and speech coaches, coiffers, trainers, and etiquette marms. After all, if he could not run his father's estate, he would have to catch an Alpha who could. And the most refined bee is caught by only the finest honey. 

His father's servants have invaded the halls of the Lecter Mansion. One by one, every room is illuminated and decorated as maids, butlers, porters, cooks and footmen pour in. The stairs of the Great Hall are laid with boughs of willow-bark and lavender, tied off at intervals with bows that trail several stories' height, clear down to the floor below. The guests arrive and soon the lower ballrooms are swarming with the sounds of laughter, clinking glass and the symphonic hum of the chamber orchestra fine-tuning their instruments. 

Will sits alone in his room, studying his reflection in the mirror. He takes down his long, cinnamon curls from their baby blue ribbon, running a whale-bone comb through until they form an even cascade. He looks tired: something he is certain the coiffers will remedy with one of their balms or potions. 

"You look lovely, dear." 

"Mama?" Will spins around, his face brightening for the first time in a long while. She smiles back as he runs in for an embrace. 

"I wish I could say I am proud of you," she chides, "but there is that whole business of running away." 

"Clarence!," Will starts suddenly "Have you seen him? How is he?" 

She shrugs, her smile fading into a scold. "Fine as can be expected, I would suppose. But being that he is currently being held in a cell, I wouldn't know for certain."

It takes all of Will's strength to keep back the tears. He slips quietly from his mother's arms to return to the mirror. He stands in front of it, inspecting the clothes he is to be married in. For some reason, he can picture himself inside of a casket, and how very fitting it would be. 

The suit of, course, is white. Inlaid with rose-gold brocade and fastened with blue satin laces. It cinches at his waist before parting into two long tails that trail down to the floor, lined with white gossamer. The Duke has obviously spared no expense. Will wonders momentarily if he'd done some work on it himself. It is enveloped in the Duke's heady scent. Will shivers as a surprisingly pleasant sting travels through him. He squeezes his eyes shut. 

"Do try to be happy, my love." His mother gently squeezes his shoulder with a delicate hand. "Your father and I worked very hard to insure your success. And the Duke is a wonderful man. We've no doubt that your offspring will be---" 

"I am grateful," Will bites off before she can continue on that most disturbing train of thought. closing a fist around the hair ribbon. "Thank you. Mother." 

Taking the hint, Lady Graham gives her son a cold peck on the cheek before slipping back into the hall. 

The Grand Ballroom has been completely transformed into a makeshift chapel, complete with two statues of the bleeding Christ beneath the all-seeing Eye Of God for an archway. The statues double as fountains, the water having been dyed an unnervingly accurate crimson, pouring out from Christ's wounds to pool at His feet. 

Will has carefully measured the exact amount of strength it would take to get him to the archway, and put as much effort into each step. His feet feel as heavy as bricks. Despite the audacious decor, Will is grateful the Duke had instructed the coiffers on a simple hair style: Will's long curls framing his face, bangs swept to one side, a single white flower tucked behind his ear. 

Wills stomach flips when he sees him, standing not at the Altar, but at the beginning of the red runner, one gloved hand outstretched. The Duke is overwhelmingly good looking. No amount of hatred for the man can disguise that. His sandy-blond hair is softly combed away from his face, side-burns carefully manicured, extending to the bottom of his ears. His suit is simple and white, with a high collar and a striking red ascot tied around his neck. 

Will swallows hard and forces himself to close the distance between them. Hesitantly, he rests his hand in Hannibal's outstretched palm.

Their contact ignites a fire deep in Will's womb that nearly brings him to his knees. His heat is making focus impossible. And being around him, near him, next to him,  _ touching him _ , is making things go from bad to worse. 

Will tries to move away as the Duke levels his lips to the place just beneath Will's ear. His reward is a firm pull inward. Will whimpers as Hannibal noses his neck, tongue flicking out to dip beneath the collar to tickle Will's wounded glands. He murmurs against him, "My dearest Will, you look good enough to eat." When Will's knees buckle, a powerful arm holds him upright. Will's face flushes hotly as he tries his damndest not to make a scene in front of the crowd of onlookers. 

Will allows himself to be led down the long aisle as the band strikes up, the mournful cry of violins filling the air. A familiar face fades into Will's vision from the back corner of the crowd. He blinks, then blinks again. 

"Clarence?!" 

"Hush, darling," the Duke purrs. His arm still clamped firmly around Will's waist. He forces Will forward as he strains to glance back at the sad young man in chains. 

"What is he doing here?!" Will rasps. 

"A special reprieve," Hannibal replies Matter-of-factly. "Being that he is your longtime friend, I would hate to see him miss out on witnessing the most important day of your life." 

"You bastard!", Will grinds out beneath his breath. "You did this to humiliate him!" 

"Nonsense. It was the least I could do to repay the both of you. I quite enjoyed our little...adventure."

Will is helpless to stop the glimmer of tears that streak his vision. He bites his lip, chest heaving as he tries to hide the sobs. As they reach the altar and the music dies down, the Duke takes his place across from his omega bride, folding their hands together with an indulgent smile. 

Will glowers back. 

There are no "I Dos". Not for Omegas. The only vows spoken are from the Duke to his bride, promises to cherish and to lead with fairness (an optional formality, really), the promise of financial stability, and most importantly, the promise of many Alpha pups to be their heirs. 

"Have you the key?", the priest asks. 

The Duke slides a single, silver key from his waistpocket. He holds it up to the light, inspecting it for a moment before motioning to the quivering omega. 

Will should run. 

Will should scream and try to escape like he did the night before, and claw the Duke's eyes out should he try and stop him. These and many more thoughts swarm around him as he stares at the outstretched hand before him. 

The Duke nods encouragingly. "Come." 

The realization that comes next hits Will like a runaway locomotive: he  _ wants  _ this. 

The deepest carnal part of him already recognizes the Duke as his Alpha. It's no longer a matter of personal desire or preference: it's a need. He is being called to  _ obey  _ by his very nature. He has been training nearly half his life for this moment. He is already wearing the Duke's brand deep within his very soul. 

A tidalwave of need crashes down upon him, sending the room spinning. He is being held up, held against something, no, someone. 

The "snick" of a lock releases the collar, pain and pressure fleeing with it. Will moans as his head is tilted back, the Duke's warm breath tickling his mating gland, the wound laid bare. 

Will would like to think he held it together for the sake of his pride. He'd like to assume that he didn't black out as the Alpha sank his teeth in, a keening wail tearing from deep within him as he collapsed against the much larger man's chest. It would feel comforting to suggest, even under pretense, that he didn't just release inside his exquisitely tailored trousers, spilling come from his hard little cock as he rode out a mind-blowing orgasm. He'd like to think that. 

But he knows better. 

The whole room is clapping merrily as the Priest announces them Lord and Wife, as if they'd just performed some entertaining parlor trick. From the far back corner, Will thinks he hears someone scream in protest. But his thoughts are too scrambled to be sure. He slumps wearily against Hannibal, grateful when the Duke plucks him up like a feather and carries him down the aisle. 

"You have done splendidly, kitten" Hannibal cooes, gently wiping a bead of sweat from Will's cheek. Will moans, nuzzling further into the wide plane of his chest.

The Duke announces the scene of the reception to take place the next town over, where one of his friends has invited everyone to join in the festivities in a maze made entirely of roses. 

Will doesn't feel much like a long carriage ride, but it goes without saying that he is expected to attend. 

He doesn't make a fuss about being carried, either. Suddenly, his whole body is on fire. But it feels...good? Will catches a glimpse of a paddy-wagon rolling away in the distance as Hannibal puts him in their carriage, a gold and black covered wagon that reminds Will of the pumpkin from the Cinderella tale. 

The Duke follows in after him, shutting the door and drawing both curtains. "Remove your clothes," he orders

Will's eyes flutter as his brain throws itself in reverse. "Wh-what?" 

"Your clothes, darling. Take them off. Or shall I do it for you?" 

Will's heart pounds hard against his ribcage as he reluctantly obeys, starting first with loosening his ascot and unbuttoning his light cotton undershirt. 

The Duke lets out an impatient grumble, his wide hands and those long intricate fingers pawing at Will, popping buttons and pulling open laces to expose his overheated flesh. 

Will cries out as his nipples hit the cold air, hardening like little pink pebbles before being devoured by a hungry mouth. 

"I'm going to take you, sweet boy," Hannibal grinds out around the hard and aching peek. "You are more than ready to feel my cock inside of you--" the dirty words alone, coming from such an elegant mouth, make Will's cock twitch. "--and I have waited long enough." 

His Alpha is all around him, his scent so powerful that it's choking out the air from Will's lungs. He is so wet now that he is sliding around in his trousers, a fact that is proven when the Duke pulls them down and off, the tip of Will's pink little cock already dripping from his earlier incident. 

The Duke slaps his wide hand across Will's asscheek, tearing a sharp wail from the Omega. His sudden harshness is both surprising and exciting. But Will is not afraid. 

"That was a very disobedient thing to do, Will. Especially in front of all of those people. Especially your own parents."

"Y-yes, Alpha," Will moans, his response shocking even himself. What are these words coming out of his mouth? Why do they sound so right in his ears?

"You must receive your punishment now, do you understand?" The Duke's tone is that of a starved man. Wills last article of clothing spills to the floor of the carriage. Embarrassment fills him as he considers the mess he must be making on the leather bench. His stalling earns him another swift spanking across the other cheek. 

"Mmm--!" He tries and fails to bite off a cry as the Duke's trousers fall from his hips, perfectly settling in between Will's spread thighs. Will can see his legs dangling over his head, ankles held captive in the Alpha's big hands. He feels the rush of cool air hitting his exposed hole and he whimpers. 

And then 

"Oh!" Will gasps as something hard and warm begins to fill him, mercilessly bearing down on his tight entrance without stopping when it meets resistance. "OH!" Will tosses his head, eyes squeezing tight as the pressure increases. 

"You will submit yourself to me," The Alpha rasps. He bends Will nearly in half as he presses in, sharp and hot like a blade and threatening to tear the ring of sensitive muscle. Will's body responds to the intrusion by saturating his opening with fresh slick. Slender fingers work roughly at his hole, sweeping up the streaks and pushing them back in where it belongs. 

Without his consent, Will's body grabs for the roving digits, trying desperately to pull them in. Hannibal chuckles softly, moving his other hand from Will's ankle to his thigh, spreading him further open. 

Within seconds, it's over. A white-hot flash of exquisite pain is replaced by the sensation of being split in two as Will is impaled on his Alpha's cock. Hannibal is heavy, flattening himself to Will as he wails behind his own clamped mouth. 

Will's own body betrays him as hot tears roll down both sides of his face, simultaneously pushing Hannibal out and swallowing him whole. Will feels his cock twitch deep in his guts as he moves in and out, in a cruel and deliberate rhythm meant to frustrate, hurt and make him feel insanely good at the same time. 

Hannibal switches nipples, devouring the impossibly hard nub that had been abandoned to the cold air. "Our pups shall suckle here," he groans around it. "It will not be long, my sweet boy. I shall see you fat with my children." 

"Y-yes," Will squeals out. He doesn't know why, but suddenly he wants that, too. He wants to be filled with his Alpha, stretched and swollen to bursting, his belly round with his babies, Will's tits heavy with milk. 

In a swift motion, Will is rolled onto his stomach, his knees to his chest as his Alpha mounts him. He cries freely into the cushion, his nails dragging into the leather as his legs search for purchase beneath the Duke. 

A noise that is not his own comes from above him. Will peers over his shoulder to watch his Alpha, head rolled back, eyes closed, grunting softly with every thrust. 

The carriage begins to move. The rumble of the road reverberates throughout Will's already stuffed insides, hitting him with another unexpected wave of need. Mindlessly, he opens himself up, pushing himself further onto the Duke until their balls touch. "You are exquisite, my little orchid," Hannibal praises, grabbing a fistful of Will's brown locks and forcing his head back. 

Will is so full it pulls every gasp of air from him. When Hannibal again bites down on the freshly opened mating mark, Will's mouth opens in a silent squall. He is helpless to stop his orgasm from climbing higher and higher as the Duke continues his merciless rythym. 

"M-my Lord," Will gasps, "I'm….I'm about to---" 

"As am I," comes the reply from beneath his jawline, moaned around their bond. 

"M- may I?" His heat-addled brain cannot make sense of whether this is his punishment or if that is yet to come. He doesn't want to anger the Duke further. 

"You may," his Alpha replies, his voice growing deeper, desperation breaking through the cracks of his cool facade. "Oh, Will, my sweet boy, come….come for me."

White-hot light explodes behind his eyes. His insides constrict, twisting deliciously around his Alpha. A ragged wail escapes as he crashes to the seat, quivering. 

Hannibal grabs his hips roughly, slamming into the boy as he rides out the ecstasy in soft sobs. A raspy roar is torn from his chest as he follows Will over the edge. 

Something thick and inexplicably warm is filling him, bathing Will in euphoria even as his belly expands to accommodate it. It feels so good and right, even though Will cannot understand it, a painfully sweet full feeling. 

Something expands just past his hole, pressing against his already overworked entrance and filling every corner until Will is properly impaled, unable to even so much as wiggle beneath the Duke's weight. 

"Wh--what is that?," he chirps. 

Hannibal is breathing hard, hips bucking slightly, delivering stinging little stabs to Will's guts. Will gasps into the leather cushion. He laughs almost pittyingly. "That is my knot, Will. It is the part of me that seals myself inside of you, ensuring not a drop of my seed escapes." 

"It hurts," he whimpers. 

"I'm sorry, lovely. A little pain is to be expected the first few times. Your body will soon grow accustomed to my size"

Will's thoughts are swimming in his head, his focus overwhelmed and yet he feels himself climbing down from his heat and coming back into himself. As if sensing his unease, the Alpha wraps his powerful arms around him, nuzzling his neck and flattening their bodies together. A comforting wave washes over Will, a flutter of contented bliss creeping along his spine. He attempts to shift a bit as his body does as the Duke promised, opening up slightly to further swallow him in. 

"My darling," Hannibal praises breathlessly against his neck, "You feel incredible." 

After a few moments, Hannibal rolls to a seated position, taking Will with him and parting the boy's legs in an attempt to help alleviate the stretch. Will relaxes against his chest, letting out a soft moan when the Duke kisses his forehead. 

Will is unprepared for how long their bond lasts. Tied together like this, he simply cannot seem to get comfortable, especially on the bumpy ride to the reception site. 

His eyes fly open wide as he remembers. "The reception !," he squeaks. He begins scraping together the scraps he can reach of the once pristine wedding garment the Duke had so painstakingly prepared for him. His every movement results in a sharp tug, his hole straining against the mass that holds them together. 

Hannibal lets out a soft hiss of pain, his hips moving uncomfortably beneath Will's."What of it?" 

"We're not--I mean, I'm not dressed!"

Hannibal softly chuckles, nosing Will's clavicle, his intricate fingers running across his flat little chest in satiny circles."My sweet thing, shouldn't you have learned by now? I always come prepared. There's a change of clothes for you in the trunk. Now cease your incessant wiggling and sit still."

Before Will gets a chance to comply, the Duke presses a firm grip onto his forehead, effectively forcing him back. Will grimaces a little at how wet they are together, his face flushing as Hannibal seats him with a filthy "squish". None of this seems to be bothering the Duke. He hums contentedly, spreading Will's legs apart even as the boy squirms against the touch. 

"Stop," Hannibal commands into the ellipse of his ear and Will freezes instantly. 

His breath is rushed and ragged as the much older man takes his time exploring his body, running those delightfully long fingers up and down in an almost soothing motion. 

"Good. Now, then my obedient Wife, for your second lesson." Will bites his lip in anticipation for what the Alpha is going to do to him next. Hannibal reaches around behind him, something metal jingles. Presently he produces a strange object the likes of which Will has never seen. It appears to be a very small bird cage, but no bird in existence would be small enough to fit. It glints in the shuttered light of the coach. It is oddly curved as well, with a rounded tip and a larger ring dangling from its base. 

Proudly, Hannibal holds it up to Will as he reads Will's face. "Do you know what this is, my pet?"

Will shakes his head. "N-no…"

"This is yet another tool in my treasure chest that will help you to learn your proper place. Already we have had a few incidents regarding your inability to control your...impulses."

Will's throat has run dry. He is at a loss as to what to think in this moment. Didn't the Duke get what he wanted? Will belongs to him now. They are mated. They are tied together for Christ's sake! Will did well. He was good for the Duke, good for his Alpha just like he said he should be. 

As if none of that now matters, Hannibal's hands drop to his sides. And he waits. Will's mind is reeling. What is he supposed to do? Had the Duke  _ wanted  _ Will to know what the object in front of him is? Was Will supposed to know? Wide-eyed, he holds his breath, knowing somehow instinctively that waiting for instructions is the only appropriate action. 

The Duke chuckles. "Do it yourself, my darling. Spread your legs on your own. Present yourself to me." 

Will is inclined to say "yes". And before he can think on why, it comes pouring out of his mouth several times over, like a tantric prayer as he lifts his hips slightly from Hannibal's lap. It causes a slight stretch on his opening, one that hurts just enough to make it feel wonderful. Instinctively, he spreads his legs, the hot slick cooling against his skin as it hits exposed air. He bites off a whimper, holding himself open. He catches a glimpse of himself and gasps--he is standing rock-hard once more, a single bead weeping slowly down his shaft.

He is completely and utterly exposed. Stripped bare for his Alpha, just as his training prepared him for. 

The Alpha wastes no time in reaching in between his thighs to pinch the head of his cocklet. It twitches, heading straight up towards his ebbing belly. Will sobs. "Tsk tsk," Hannibal rebukes softly. Those two magical fingers work their way down his tiny cock and back up, stopping to dip into the slit to pull out a clear string of goo. "There is that excitable nature of yours again My love. Did your parents tell you what this is?" 

"Y-yes…." 

"Did they tell you it is shameful?" 

Suddenly, Will ducks into his sweat-dampened curls. "...yes." 

"Then you know you ought not to be using it." 

With that, the Duke pushes the shiny ring through first one testicle and then the other, securing it in place as Will squirms. 

The Golden cage is so pretty, Will thinks, how could it be used as a punishment? 

"This is an imposter," the Duke explains. "It is an unnecessary organ. It has no function other than to determine your outward gender. It is of insignificant size and could not be used for proper penetration. Your testicles house no seed. Yet still, some Omegas seek its use by way of pleasure." 

"How is that so bad?," Will wonders aloud. 

"It is a distraction," The Duke chides. With Will's small cock in one hand and the tiny golden cage in the other. "From your true purpose. Care to guess what that is?" 

"What, my purpose?" Will murmurs. 

"Yes." 

"T-to please my Alpha..." 

"That is correct," Hannibal answers. Will lets out a sigh of relief. "This will only serve to take your mind away from me. It must be locked away, so that you may learn the true meaning and pleasure of Omega-servitude."

"B-but how will I---? 

"There is plenty of ventilation and a hole at the tip for you to relieve yourself. This is only to stop you from experiencing orgasm that is not induced by mating." 

"B-but I…" Will struggles to come up with a good excuse as to why this should not be, and his garbled mind comes up empty. It is clear that Hannibal is not waiting nor is he interested in anybody's thoughts on the matter besides his own. He stretches Will's poor, hard cock out, bending it downwards and shoving the tip of it into the cold metal casing. 

Will scrambles backwards, suddenly pawing at Hannibal as he wiggles and prods and pokes until his cocklet is securely sealed inside of the curved little bird cage. It's painful. It's exciting. The stimulation only serves to make Will harder, and as he understands it that it is a bad thing. He tries his best to force it down, but the more he moves the more Hannibal's knot moves inside him, brushing up against something hard and smooth suddenly and drawing out a gasp as Will goes rigid. 

A silver lock it slid into place and Will is safely locked away with a single "snick" of the key. 

It is suspended on a leather rope which in turn goes around Hannibal's neck before disappearing underneath his perfectly pressed ascot. Hannibal pats it into place, smiling proudly to himself. 

"There we are." He cooes. "Now we have simply removed the temptation." 

"B-but how do I...i mean, I can't…" 

"No, you can't." Hannibal confirms. "As a properly bred Omega, your every climax will only be achieved through the satisfaction of your Alpha." Will slumps back, chest heaving as he chokes out a dry sob. 

"My Lord...p-please…"

Soft lips kiss away a tear as it escapes. "Ssshhhh….hush now my flower. I shall make you feel better than you've ever imagined. That is my promise. Now, be a good boy. Thank your Alpha for his guidance." 

"Th…..

thank you, Al-Alpha...f-for…." 

As if proving his promise, Hannibal's cock twitches deep inside of him, growing hard once more as he begins to pound into the boy. Will's head shoots straight back, air being torn from his lungs, sweat flying from his thick dark curls as his sweet spot receives blow after blow. His cock is expanding with nowhere to go, trapped and aching in its golden prison, pathetically drooling out heavy streams of useless, sterile omega slick. 

Two fingers pinch town on either swollen nipple, tugging and kneading the pink areolas to standing. 

Will hates this. Hates what the man is doing to him, what he is making Will feel. Worse than all of that, Will hates that he likes it. 

He is helpless to stop himself from releasing in perfect tandem with his Alpha, his muscles convulsing, sharp nails digging into Hannibal's trouser-clad thighs. They come together, a twisted mess of clothes and skin and sweat as once again Hannibal's knot swells to full size and locks firmly into place. 

The ride is continued in the quiet, both of them panting, neither of them having strength left to talk. Will's legs feel like gel. When the carriage finally stops, Wills face turns red. He can hear the sizeable crowd clapping. As they pull up into the rotunda, anxiously waiting for them to make their appearance. 

Hannibal has to help Will dress. He just doesn't have any strength left. He tries his best to comply when Hannibal orders him to move an arm or a leg. In a surprisingly intimate gesture, the Duke cleans Will up with his own silk kerchief, plucked from his wedding jacket. Will's cheeks burn from embarrassment but he cannot stop how comforting it feels. 

The Duke puts the piece of cloth back into his pocket as if it was never soiled, carefully folding and creasing it despite the dampness.

"What are you doing?," Will asks. It crosses his mind too late that he might not like the answer.

The Duke's silver eyes glitter mischievously. "Saving it for later, of course."

Finally he is once again done up just like a perfect Omega specimen. His hair neatly tucked behind one ear so as to explain away the shimmery dampness as hair balm. Despite being fully dressed, Will feels completely exposed. The cold metal cage is hard and unforgiving between his legs. The Duke doesn't seem to be the least bit inconvenienced by all the extra work. He swings Will up into his arms, carrying him out of the carriage (to the sound of strings and lavish applause). 

Will is glad for the Duke's wide, warm chest and his thrumming heartbeat. They are the only things calming his tortured mind. And the irony that the man who is the sole cause of his torment is also his sole comfort doesn't escape him.

  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
[](https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipPDr1rM86ZpnSGPvW2FH-0v92fRx_MxuyqDiTwreAEXeG8Pq-ywKzzRUONZjvPbmw?key=YW8zOFA4NWFGWFZaY1BkbnZpWXpLMTlSTTl0akhR&source=ctrlq.org)   



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will squirms uncomfortably in his new trousers, caged by a device that nobody can see, his cock throbbing against the cold metal and yearning to be freed. Desperately, he clings to the Duke's coat sleeve, his heavily lidded eyes flashing up at him. 
> 
> "P...please," he whines. He doesn't know what he is pleading for, only that he is in a miserable state and is in fear of collapsing at any moment. The room is swirling around him and the smiling Alpha is the only thing keeping him upright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a little bit of physical abuse in this one towards the end. Just fyi. 
> 
> thank you so much for your patience  
> I really hope this update was worth the wait!!!

_ Four years ago…. _

For the first time since he's presented, Will is allowed to go to Town--Chaperoned, of course. With the doctor saying he's a few weeks away from his next heat, his father has finally broken down and grudgingly allowed him a few precious hours of life outside the cottage walls. Clarence offers his arm and Will throws himself around it, bounding down the steps in his fancy new attire and pulling his best friend down after him. 

Gone are the sport jackets and tall hats in their gray and hunter green pinstripe-Omegas are expected to wear soft floral colors and brocade vests with flowing sleeves, and to wear their hair down and long, sometimes with a flower tucked behind their ear to accompany it.

Will doesn't mind this change. It's all the new tutors he's worried about. As an Omega, he will be expected to learn latin, Spanish and French and be well versed in all things domestic and of course, the arts. Will would much rather practice his fencing or spend an entire day riding horses. But today he choses not to think of it -- today he is going shopping. 

"I'm going to get a new foil," he whispers, rushing Clarence into the driver's seat and practically throwing the reigns at him. "And maybe a new mask too!" 

Clarence frowns slightly, unable to hide the playful grin tugging at his lips. "But hasn't your father forbidden you from sword lessons?"

Will bumps elbows with his forever friend, offering him a smile that practically beams of his unwavering confidence. "What does it matter? I can simply hide any of my fencing accoutrements in the stables. And anyways, what makes you think I'm going to give up everything I love just because of my sex? I'm an Omega, I'm not dead." 

Clarence offers Will a proud smile and with a light slap of the reigns they are off to Town. 

Will finds a quaint romanticism in the village, with its ancient stone buildings and it's cobblestone streets. They pass by the barber shop, and he touches the trailing locks of his hair. His bangs sweep into his line of vision. He wishes he could stop for a trim, or at least wear a hat that he could hide them in but either of those solutions would result in a sound whipping once his father found out. 

As if reading his mind, Clarence offers him a gentle smile and tucks a stray curl behind Will's ear. "You look handsome this way, too." 

Will gives him an unsure quirk of his eyebrow, but leaves it at that. Secretly, he is grateful for the remark.

The town has grown exponentially in a few short years, mostly on account of the newly built railroad that runs right through the middle. A new invention, the Locomotive as it's called, brings tons of goods through on a weekly basis. Every now and again, new visitors come with it. And some decide to stay. 

The horses feel the distant rumble before their passengers do, whinnying irritably and nudging each other's noses as the haunting whistle breaks out over the bustling streets. Clarence knickers, giving the leads a tug to the right, and they pound off down the embankment and far away from the tracks. 

They are just finishing tying up the carriage as the engine rolls through. But instead of the smell of milled wheat and rows upon rows of rusted box-cars, a smooth black train rumbles to a stop just outside the station. 

Traffic falls to a hush as everybody stops to stare. 

The words on the engine are scrolled in red and gold letters "East Orient Express." The wheels are trimmed in red and each window is decorated with a golden Fleur De Lis. 

"What….is that?," Clarence breathes. 

Will blinks slowly as the clean white smoke clears. Only two figures emerge from the cabin. The interior is lit with lightly flickering sconces, illuminating the plush red interior. It's another few moments before he realizes his mouth has tumbled open. 

As Will wipes a line of drool away and subconsciously smooths his tunic. 

"Rather,  _ Who  _ is that?", Clarence corrects himself. 

The central figure has such a presence that his companion fades out of existence. He is exceptionally tall and impeccably dressed. His long gray overcoat is buttoned nearly to his throat, a shining red brooch adorning a cream-colored ascot. His shoes are polished to a mirror finish, matching his cane. 

"How should I know?", Will murmurs. Beneath the bridge of the man's top-hat, eyes the color of moonlight shine. Momentarily, they meet Will's gaze and Will gasps, slamming his eyes to the ground. His heart is inexplicably thudding in his chest, his cheeks suddenly burning hot. 

"Never seen him before," Clarence sniffs, clearly unimpressed. He hooks his arm beneath Will's, pulling him backwards into the alley. "Come on."

Will wants to argue. He has never seen such a display of riches in his entire life, and he is the son of a Lord! He strains to catch another glimpse until his friend and servant drags him around the corner and out of sight. 

"You didn't need to push me." Will straightens his tunic, his brow furrowing. The sign above their heads helps Will soon forget about the infraction. It reads "Sir Moncei's School of Sword Mastery". 

Sadness sinks into his very bones as they enter. He is going to miss this school. He curses his stupid Omega-ness, with its made up rules. Why should having a womb automatically exclude Will from nearly everything he enjoys?

Sir Moncei looks up at them from the studio floor mid-swing and his eyes light up. "Young Lord Graham, there you are!," he announces, beaming. He immediately stashes the sword to greet the boys hovering in the doorway. "How have you been, my boy? Your father said you have been feeling unwell."

"I'm….I'm better now," Will murmurs. "B-but, I'm afraid I won't be...w-won't …." Clenching his fists at his sides, he utilizes every ounce of his strength to keep the tidal wave of emotions at bay. "I won't be able to continue my lessons."

He can feel the tears welling in his eyes, threatening to spill over and it's only worsened by the look of deep concern written on his teacher's face. 

"Will, whatever for? Is there something that….?"

Sir Moncei's voice drifts off as he closes the distance between them. His face falls as he sniffs the air around him, further inspection of Will's clothing and hair confirming what he knows to be true. "...oh. I see." 

The air changes for Will, too. He's never realized before that his teacher has a distinct scent--it is woodsy and dark, like honey and freshly tilled earth with a hint of the black coal, like the kind that billows out from the locomotives that deliver goods to the town. 

Sir Moncei regains a little distance, as if respectfully bowing out of a match he cannot win. "I'm sorry." The sentiment is in earnest, though he can't seem to look Will in the eye as he says it.

"I was hoping for a new foil?," Will perks up suddenly, striding forward to run his hand along the various artifacts and items on the wall. "And perhaps a mask? One of the mesh ones with the leather padding? I have money--"

His teacher waves the comment away, shaking his head vehemently as he plucks a finely made but simple practice sword from its holder. "No need," he insists. "I have just the thing. Save your money. It is my gift to you."

Poor Clarence has to wrestle the blade from his charge as they leave the school, looking in both directions as he slides it into his belt. "You must be more cautious! If you're caught handling a weapon, we will both be in trouble."

"I've been handling weapons since I was four," Will gaffs, reaching for the sword.

Clarence is unable to stop an impish grin from crossing his face. He moves away quickly, darting out of the alleyway and into the busy street ahead. 

For just a moment, they are young boys again, frolicking freely in a world that could care less who they are. Will races after his best friend, a devious smile plastered on his face. He nearly catches the long tail of Clarence's coat and when he glances up again, it's only in time to see Clarence slam into the impeccably dressed stranger from the train. Clarence stumbles back, landing at Will's feet in the dirt. 

"Impudent boy!," the stranger's companion hisses, giving Clarence a crack over the head with his cane. 

"No!," Will cries out. He covers Clarence with his body as the second blow strikes, sending a flash of white-hot pain straight through Will's shoulder. He glares up at the man, grabbing onto the staff before he has a chance to retract it. The man's eyes flash. 

The stranger raises one eyebrow. 

"Unhand it, whelp!", the man growls. 

"You didn't have to hit him like that!," Will screeches. 

"Please," the tall, broad shouldered man finally speaks. Pulling off a glove, finger by finger, he offers a hand down to the boys. "Forgive my constituent. He can be brash at times."

"I'll say," Clarence grumbles as he accepts the help, one hand holding the stranger's and the other holding his head. 

Will's eyes fire arrows at the man's partner, letting out a snarl as he reluctantly lets the cane slide from his grasp. 

Clarence offers Will help to his feet, but the stranger gently insists, hooking both of his big hands underneath Will's arms and sliding him to standing. He does so as if Will weighs less than a feather, leaving the dumbfounded brunette to stare wonderingly into his eyes. 

"That was an heroic display of courage," he utters, his voice dripping with honey. Will blinks slowly, feeling his face flush as the man pauses to hold him, mere inches from his chest. A wide hand cups Will's chin, tipping his head up and forcing their eyes to meet. "What is your name, child?" 

"W...Will," he stammers. Suddenly, this man is all that Will can smell. It surrounds him like a blanket; the sparkling scent of spiked cider and black truffles make his mouth water instantly. 

"Will," the man repeats, trying His name on His lips. Perhaps he likes the sound of it, because the corners of his mouth flick upwards. He lightly sniffs around him, mulling the scent over in his mind. "And whom, pray tell, is your sire?"

"He doesn't have to tell you that," Clarence interjects, wrapping a sturdy arm around Will and pulling him backwards in an unsuccessful attempt to break the stranger's hold.

"Indeed, he does not," the man says. "But he already has." 

Will's eyes fly wide open in realization. Is he a…

"Sorry!", he squeaks, severing the man's hold with a sharp push and coiling his arm around Clarence. "We've got to….we need to be going….sorry bye!" 

Clarence attempts to look back at the two gentlemen but Will just keeps going, dragging his best friend down the street and into the alleyway, disappearing from sight. 

* * *

"I want him."

Lord Graham pauses mid-sip, one eyebrow flying up. "Pardon, your Lordship?" 

"It would be a fitting arrangement, would it not? After all we are going to be neighbors."

"Ah yes, I meant to express my condolences for your Uncle's sudden passing. He and you were close, yes?"

"Only in a business sense." Hannibal paces the drawing room, surveying the various paintings and tintype pictures of the Graham family. On the wall is displayed a beautiful young boy, an artist's attempt at portraying a poised and proper young lad doing nothing to diminish the wild look in his eyes or tame that delightfully unruly hair. "Tell me, Lord Graham, would you consider your son an obedient boy?"

"Oh yes, of course!," he insists, nodding vehemently. "Will has always been the epitome of manners and behavior. His mother and I have insisted on only the most strenuous discipline, and plans are in motion to continue his training in proper etiquette, now that he…"

"Now that he has Presented," Hannibal finishes. 

"Erm, yes, Your Lordship." 

He traces a gloved finger over a tintype of the brunette seated on the edge of a settee, his angelic face turned downward in an obvious pout. Hannibal cannot help but smile. "And how long has it been, since his very first heat?"

"Oh, about a month ago I'd say." After a pause, the Lord searches the face of his superior, obvious dollar signs in his eyes. "The physician has informed me that he can be mated straight away! He could even begin producing young as shortly as a year from now. His mother and I have set aside a handsome dowry for just such an occasion--" 

"If I may be so bold," Hannibal grumbles, turning away from the photo. "Does a vitner harvest his grapes before their season?"

"I'm afraid I don't catch your meaning, My Lord?"

"Let him grow up." Hannibal says plainly. "The sweetest fruit ripens on the vine." 

* * *

_ Presently….. _

Will tries to smile politely. He does his best to greet and thank every guest and carry on as the ballroom swirls with partygoers. 

But inside, he is falling apart. 

His hair is disheveled, a permanent flush resting high on his cheeks. From the mesmerized stares and the quiet chuckling, it is painfully clear that everyone knows: Will is desperately in heat. He smells like freshly cut flowers and his own estrus intermingled with Duke's natural musk. He clutches his stomach as another wave of need hits him, causing him to stumble backward. Hannibal of course is there to catch him, a wide hand pressed against his lower back. 

It's clear the Duke enjoys this. He must get some sort of sick satisfaction from watching his new mate, heavy with his cum and smelling like it, forced to make pleasantries as he slowly burns up from the inside out. 

Will squirms uncomfortably in his new trousers, caged by a device that nobody can see, his cock throbbing against the cold metal and yearning to be freed. Desperately, he clings to the Duke's coat sleeve, his heavily lidded eyes flashing up at him. 

"P...please," he whines. He doesn't know what he is pleading for, only that he is in a miserable state and is in fear of collapsing at any moment. The room is swirling around him and the smiling Alpha is the only thing keeping him upright. 

"Pardon us," the Duke announces finally. "I think we shall retire early. It is, after all, a long ride back."

Will feels nothing but shame as he is led away and packed back into the carriage, followed by a string of mumbled jeers and whispers. 

"Animals, all of them," The Duke utters beneath his breath. "As if they have never experienced the mating pull themselves. Now then, we must make you as comfortable as possible on the way home." Effortlessly, Hannibal plucks Will from the seat and slides him onto his lap. Will gasps as the Duke releases his massive cock with the flick of a button and pushes Will's bottoms down to his knees, planting the tiny omega onto the tip and letting gravity bring him down onto it while he holds the boy steady. The little cock cage chimes as Will's poor erection twitches. All it manages to produce is a stringy bead of drool from the tip.

Will's head flies back as he cries out, his body responding by drawing the Alpha inside him until the back of his thighs hit Hannibal's lap, fully seating him on his knot. 

"Magnificent," Hannibal groans, beginning a quick, punishing rhythm that fills the cabin with the slap of skin-on-skin. 

A single tear slides down Will's face and Hannibal kisses it away, whispering praises into his ear as he coils his hand around his throat. "That's it, darling. Such a good little whore already." Will tosses his head away at the slanderous name and Hannibal chuckles, snapping his hips off the bench as if to prove his point. Will cannot stop the gush of fresh slick that spurts out around the Duke's steadily growing knot nor the helpless wail that escapes his throat as the carriage begins its long journey toward Lecter Castle. 

"We should perhaps go over a few rules," Hannibal grinds out in his ear. "After all, as a Wife of the House of Lecter, you will be representing your husband--that is me---- in all things. You are not to wear shoes in the palace at any time." He rocks his steadily growing knot into his bride to emphasize his point, reveling in the pathetic whine it produces. "You are never to address another Alpha without permission. Upon the "Present" command, you will stop whatever you are doing. You will drop immediately to your knees, chest to the floor and spread your cheeks apart, keeping them open as I enter you. Keeping up with everything so far, Darling?" 

Will is lost in every way, eyes rolled back in his head, his chest softly heaving in time with the Duke's thrusts. He nods slightly, a dry sob escaping from his parted lips. 

"If you disobey me there will be swift and appropriate action. I will consider any mishaps in the first few days but beyond that it will not be tolerated." 

"W-what if I am good?," Will asks, his voice quivering from the movement and from the need itself. 

Hannibal chuckles, one gloved hand making its way between his legs to toy with the cage. He stops the movement of his hips, allowing his swollen cock to sit inside Will's velvet channel, the only movement being that of the vibration from the carriage on the road. "There is no 'what if'," the Duke grinds out. "You will always be very good, in all things." He can feel the boy's walls convulsing and collapsing, desperate for the relief that only the Duke's knot can sate. "Being in my good graces should be reward enough." 

Large, elegant hands snake their way under Will's top, fluttering up over his ribcage, to his pert nipples. The Duke squeezes each in tandem with touches too light to be satisfying. 

"And it goes without saying," Hannibal rasps against his ear, "You will breed for me each and every season. Beginning now." 

Will is full-on sobbing now, both from the Duke's words and from the desperately empty sensation in his stomach. His head flies back against the Duke's shoulder, and it is no small comfort when a strong arm wraps around his front and the Alpha speeds up his thrusts. Will is powerless to stop himself from coming, and it gushes out of his entrance even as he feels the duke twitch inside, exploding with a groan and pumping Will's flat belly full with his seed, the knot locking them in place.

"Good boy, oh my darling," Hannibal cooes, peppering his newly formed mating mark with gentle, sated bites. "You don't know how happy you make me." 

Will slumps against the Duke, breathless. For a long while they embrace like that, Will casting weary glances out the carriage's small window to watch the dying sun.

As the knot begins to deflate the Alpha checks by tugging, globs of slick and come escaping from Will's spent little hole. "I have another gift for you. Well, two actually. But one you will have to wait for until we arrive home. This one…" Hannibal pauses to open a small wooden box. Inside is a shining piece of smooth metal, and Will's stomach does backflips. If it is anything like the last bloody "gift", he doesn't fucking want it. "...You may try on now."

"What is it," Will says, his pout coming through in his tone. Hannibal chuckles and lifts the item out. It looks to be the shape of a tear drop, with a round stopper at one end. 

"This, my dove, goes inside you."

"Inside..!?," Will gasps, turning as much as he is able without the knot pulling to stare incredulously at the Alpha. "Where inside!?" 

"Where do you imagine?," Hannibal murmurs, his voice growing dark and hungry. "How else am I to keep my beloved always satisfied, and my seed locked inside of him?"

Will is so furious he is certain he must be burning up with rage. This is the last straw. He has been utterly humiliated in front of his parents and the Duke's adoring public--most of whom are likely sick bastards themselves--he has had every right and freedom stripped from him, his personhood tossed asunder in every conceivable way, and he is not about to let this man come near him with that gargantuan torture device. He tears it out of the Duke's hand and throws it across the coach, and the expression that comes over the man's all-too- perfect face is one that will live in Will's head for the rest of his life. The metal thing rolls to the corner and for just the slightest moment, Will revels in his blatant act of rebellion. He feels alive again. 

The Duke's baffled expression darkens into something indescribable that freezes the very blood in Will's veins. In an instant, he grabs Will by the hips and lifts him off his dwindling knot, causing a wave of pain to rip through him. Will cries out, clutching his stomach but it given no time to recover. Hannibal forces him to his knees onto the carriage floor, holding the boy down with one hand as he reaches for the plug in the other. The shock of cold metal against his throbbing entrance makes Will gasp for air. He claws at the carpeting as the Duke kicks his legs apart, bending him over at the waist and with brutal accuracy forcing the cold plug into Will's sore channel. Will cries out through the uncomfortable stretch, his puckered entrance yawning open as the cold metal mass is lodged deep inside. Will's tummy pooches at the addition, being already heavy with his husband's come. At last, his sore hole swallows the plug in its entirety, the tapered end teasing against his prostate with every move he makes. 

"That was a bad boy," Hannibal growls, planting a cold kiss on his shoulder. "Very bad boy." 

The Duke leaves Will there on the floor, openly sobbing and clutching his stomach, as he readjusts the front of his pants, stuffing himself back inside. "You would do well to remember your place,  _ wife _ . It does pain me to treat you so coldly." With that, Hannibal returns to his seat, landing with an uncharacteristically sharp huff. He pours himself a glass of brandy as they roll along, and the carriage is filled with silence for the rest of the ride back to the castle. 

* * *

"We have arrived, my love." Will's eyelids part slowly to the sound of the Duke's voice and the gentle patter of rain on the roof of the coach. He is wrapped in something stiff but warm, cradled against the Duke's chest. It takes him another moment to realize it's the Duke's own overcoat. At some point, Hannibal must have taken mercy on him and plucked him from the terribly uncomfortable floor. Will rubs the sleep out of his eyes as the footman opens the door. Hannibal carries Will out and down the steps as if he weighs nothing, kissing him once as they step over the threshold and smiling almost apologetically down at him. "I know you are exhausted, my darling. If you would indulge me in one last gift, we can then retire to bed. I believe it is something that will make you sleep well."

"No, please," Will sobs dryly, tugging pleadingly at the Duke's ascot. He squirms uncomfortably, plugged up and full and feeling terribly exposed by the contraptions holding his nethers captive. A big, slender hand covers his own and Hannibal smiles against his lips. 

"It is nothing like that, my little peace dove," Hannibal cooes. The servants follow them with brightly lit lanterns as they make their way to the study. 

In the darkness, Will can see a figure in a plain white shift kneeling in the center of the room, chains shackling his wrists together. The dusky blonde head lifts upwards, sad eyes glinting in the reflection of the lamps. 

In that moment, Will's heart stops. His eyes brim with fresh tears as he clasps his hands over his mouth in shock and realization. 

**".... _Clarence_?!!!!" **

  
  
  
  


  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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